Shades of Black
by Tuscan Rhase
Summary: V is up! DS Male Revan. A tale of Revan's conversion, more or less, starting from his shady roots in Kotor I and continuing past Malak's defeat. Heavy focus on character relations. Full summary inside.
1. The Backwater Planet

**Rating**: PG-13 (A few vague combat descriptions)

**Description**: A narration of Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic through a DS male Revan character. I deviate a little from the exact plot of the game (Okay, quite a bit at times) for your entertainment.

**Please bear this in mind**: I am not going to write all conversations out letter for letter. I may mix up the order of events (it is a long game, after all). I may just stop writing once the urge to narrate leaves and I can resume other tasks. Also: I like HK-47. A lot. You do to. Expect a lot of HK-47.

**Finally**: I chose male Dark Side because I figured it would appeal to more people (and I know that nobody reads narrations as it is). I know that according to KotOR II Revan was female, but meh, I started writing this before KotOR II was released. I promise to mix things up enough to make this interesting. Yes, that probably means skipping over some minor (read: boring-as-hell) plot points as well as the little SW 'A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away' spiff. And Pazaak. No bloody pazaak.

Without further ado:

--------------------------------------------------- Chapter I---------------------------------------------------

**the Backwater Planet**

"No, wait. I don't think–"

Too late. The over-zealous blonde had already opened the damaged room access, and now they both were staring into the features of a dark Jedi. The black-cloaked man activated his lethal red lightsaber and flourished it with a smirk as the rogue watched, unable to do anything but curse Trask for being so incredibly brash. He looked over at the blonde soldier, and wasn't surprised to find him gaping.

The shock didn't last as long as he had expected; the soldier's expression hardened more quickly than the former spice-smuggler would have imagined possible, and he solemnly raised the gleaming steel blade he was wielding– the perfect image of a dauntless warrior. When he spoke, however, his voice was simply dripping with fear and apprehension. He knew he was about to die.

"Go! Get out of here. . . I'll try to hold him off. Get to the escape pods!"

The blonde soldier charged at the fallen Jedi, who's expression may have been perfectly jovial - if a hell hound's bared fangs could be considered a toothy smile. The cloaked man's blood lust would be sated soon enough, and the monster knew it. The rogue watched as the dark Jedi let his prey come to him.

Almost as soon as Trask blew through the threshold, there was a soft mechanic whir. The thick door sealed after him, locking the rogue out and blocking the 'battle' from his sight. Shortly after the metal panels closed, the hum of a lightsaber echoed over yet another explosion, and nearly drowned out an ignoble death cry.

_So much for the longsword I leant him._ He stepped away from his late blonde companion's grave and opened the portal to the starboard section of the dying Endar Spire.

'_At least the fool took responsibility for his fault, although I can't say that I would have done the same in his position.' _He advanced cautiously into the corridor before him. '_Then again, I wouldn't have made his fatal mistake at all. How could he have possibly though that anything benign would be behind that door, when we were JUST informed of our status as the last two living crew members on board? Trask was but little brawn and less brains.' _The smuggler wasn't going to miss him.

He turned a corner and saw a Sith patrol with his metal-plated back turned to him at the end of a short hallway, distracted by a sudden explosion. With a piteous smile, the rogue activated his stealth generator and crouch-walked toward him. The Sith grunt would pay dearly for not paying attention to his surroundings. Maybe stupidity and lack of judgement was a common disease the inhibitors of this ship spread like a plague– a virus that he was thankfully immune to.

Once the stealth-shielded rogue was within attacking range, the patrol meandered back to his post. The brute even brushed against him and remained unaware of his presence!

_I may just be doing the Sith a favor by eliminating this guy. _He drew a short sword from his side, and his stealth field fell, revealing him to his stunned victim. Something about the shocked expression on corpse-to-be faces always amused him. Every one was different, yet they all screamed the same thought, give or take a few cuss words: Oh _shit_.

Before the patrol could respond, and after the rogue had time to enjoy imagining what the Sith's contorted features looked like under that ugly visor, he ran his blade beneath the metal helm's chin. The patrol fired a few hap-hazardly aimed shots as he fell, none of which hit their mark.

His path cleared, the unscathed runner stepped lightly over a spattering of corpses, picking up a few stray items along the way. He had barely made it into the next room when he was contacted, yet again, on his communicator. The same unshaven face greeted him.

"There's a whole Sith battalion behind those doors. You might want to find a way to thin their numbers." The transmission cut short.

_A whole battalion, huh?_ The rogue looked about the crushed room he was now in. There were a number of crates and cylinders lining the walls, and a disabled battle droid slumped over in the far right hand corner. He could activate it, if he had the parts, then lay low under the cover of his shields until the machine had finished its slaughter. He liked the idea.

He stepped over to the droid and looked it over. Repairing it would be a simple task for him, even without having a store of knowledge on circuitry and machines. If only he had the parts necessary. There must have been some more on the Endar Spire somewhere, but he wasn't expecting a whole crateful to be conveniently sitting beside him in the first crate he checked. He didn't ask questions, though, but just accepted their presence as a result of his amazing luck and took the disposable packets from their storage.

Within a few moments he had the droid up and running, though he didn't have the time to figure out how he was supposed to activate its shielding or any other special features. Either way, he decided it would do. He activated it.

The droid hummed to life and began pacing to the door when it popped open. The rogue barely had his camouflage activated when a surprised sith commander ran straight into the machine's blaster. His entrails were blown back through his armour, and his corpse fell to the floor seconds later. The rest of the sith opened fire on the machine, but its armour plating wasn't even scathed by the heat of the blaster shots.

Silently, the rogue slipped along the outskirts of the battle, unnoticed by the Sith who were fighting futilely for their very lives. He smiled as the droid sent a bolt through the last remaining patrol's head, spattering the grey contents of its cranium onto the wall behind it. It was at that moment he decided that he liked droids, the efficient machines that they were.

He deactivated his camouflage and opened the door before him. On the other side the man who had been contacting him, Carth something-or-other, looked somewhat surprised to see him.

"I'm glad you made it. Now let's get off this ship."

The rogue looked down at the escape pod the soldier had gestured to. It was small, and quite frankly he really didn't feel like sharing it with another man. He just stared back at the soldier, eyebrow raised in silent question, to see if the man was serious.

"What?"

"I'm not sharing that thing with you."

". . . What?" The scruffy looking soldier seemed dumbstruck for a moment.

"Why should I trust you? How am I supposed to know that you're even on my side. . . how useful will you be to me once we land?" He just stated what thoughts were skipping across his mind, matter-of-factly. "I think I would much rather bring the droid."

"W-what! You're kidding! That-that thing is following it's patrol route! You couldn't even take it if you wanted to."

"I _do_ want to." The smuggler reminded him.

Just before the soldier began to order the black haired runner into the pod, the Endar Spire shuddered under another volley of Sith attacks, knocking the spice dealer off his feet. Carth took this to his advantage and shoved the other man into the pod before jumping in himself.

He half expected to be killed as he leapt into the small escape ship, but as he grounded himself he was surprised to see the smuggler hadn't yelled at him. In fact, the man didn't even move. Upon closer inspection, he found that the smuggler's golden eyes had rolled back into his head and his tongue lolled out of his mouth in what he could only assume was an uncharacteristic way; the rogue was out cold.

'_Well, this should make transport easier.'_ The soldier braced himself as a shockwave hit the descending escape pod - the only thing that could have caused the pod to shudder as it did would have been the destruction of the Spire. The ship was nothing more than spacedust now, or at least he was fairly certain.

A few seconds later the pod shook yet again, and then violently shuddered and began to crack under intense pressure. For how loud the situation was, it was quite eery that everything went silent within mere moments. They had landed and, for the most part, were still in one piece.

Carth had to struggle through at least one hundred and fifty pounds of unconscious criminal before he could reach the release hatch. Once he finally managed to get the pod open he was faced with yet another problem: getting the pile of dead weight out of the pod. It was a task that wouldn't be too hard normally, but was made increasingly difficult by the fact that this man was just as stubborn unconscious as he was standing, if not more so. His small body was borderline refusing to be pushed through the opening above them.

He knew that there would be more to worry about once that task was complete, but just so he didn't feel overwhelmed he decided to think things through one step at a time. In fact, if he had decided to think about things in the long run, he would have been long gone by now, the spice smuggler dust along with the Endar Spire, considering that Sith dogs would be swarming the area within minutes. That thought almost made him consider climbing around the heap above him, but he resisted that urge promptly.

He wasn't particularly fond of this criminal, and something about his golden eyes was incredibly unsettling, but as a soldier he had never left a man behind if he could help it. So, motivated by the sound of engines approaching, he shoved the scrawny man through the hatch with a sickening pop - something was damaged, but right now that didn't matter. The instant his feet hit the ground he grabbed the lump of man flesh off the ground and ran for the nearest structure that he saw, looking back only after passing through the threshold of what appeared to be an apartment building. What he saw was nothing less than he expected, but it was still quite unsettling - a large number of sith soldiers had already begun searching for survivors.

Carth was surprised at how few people took notice of him walking through the grimy halls of the apartment complex with an unconscious, bleeding man slung over his shoulder. He inwardly shuddered, thinking for a moment on how these people must live if they found his situation normal. However, the thought lasted for only a moment, because just as he was walking around the curved hallway he caught sight of some Sith soldiers through the windows of the complex. Before he was noticed he jumped quickly (or, at least, as quickly as he could carrying the runner) into the closest doorway on his left.

He was pretty sure the troopers weren't even looking into the window, but who could be sure? He pressed his bulk against the doorway as he heard the Sith outside being commanded, and removed one hand from the smuggler to unholster his blaster. He would have preferred stealth, but if he was forced to shoot his way from where he stood now to Bastila, that would simply be what he had to do.

Much to his relief, however, the shouting ended and was shortly followed by the sounds of engines taking off. The soldier let out a large sigh. _Now I only need to find a place for me to, well . . . fix the damage I've inflicted upon this man and from there we can find Bastila._ It was then that the unconscious man began to come to, and upon shaking his already cut up head he hit the door's activation pad. Before Carth even knew what had happened, he was on the floor with a rather nasty bump on his head. The runner was, once again, bleeding and unconscious.

"I . . . I suppose this place will do." The soldier declared to himself aloud, rubbing his head as he stood. He looked around the dirty little apartment. No windows, corporate grey, some furnishings; luckily there were two beds. The smuggler he had rescued (for better or for worse) lay at his feet. His smaller form was bent at a number of strange angles that made the soldier cringe. Most noticeably, the runner's left shoulder was horribly slack - the arm was disconnected. _Well, I guess I know what popped earlier_, Carth thought as he straightened the man out in preparation to put the joint back together.

Within a few moments the shoulder was mended, wrapped up in support bandages, and the man was placed on one of the standard beds. Although uncomfortably short for an average man, the shoddy apartment bed was just long enough for the rogue. The soldier was somewhat envious of that, but he finished wrapping up the dented and broken man anyway, making him comfortable. He still felt bad, after all, for inflicting the man's wounds. Once he had finished checking on the smuggler's other gashes and bruises, he found himself looking at the man's scarred face.

The runner's eyelids had managed to close themselves, and Carth was a little disturbed to see that it looked as though the man wore eyeliner - how else could his eyes be so dark around the edges? Perhaps that was just some smuggler insignia for rank or something, but it still made him feel a little odd. When he looked a little closer, he realized that the skin in some areas of his face was actually _burned_ . . . it appeared to be ritualistic, but at the same time it looked nothing like a natural reaction to heat. The scarring wasn't inflicted by another sentient being. Over the right eye was a long, vertical scar that grazed the lid and even this mar was strange. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn it was inflicted by a lightsaber, but how would a common criminal come into contact with something like that?

Then, without any warning the runner's eyes shot open, and Carth found himself cornered by golden irises that shouldn't belong to any human. Naturally, he jumped back.

He half expected to be attacked, but later rationed that it was only the rogue's predatory animal-like eyes that made him fear a fight. The man just lay still for a moment, blinking to focus his vision. Within a few moments the smuggler had begun to sit up and became aware that something was wrong with his shoulder. He frowned. It was a few more minutes after he finished his self-evaluation before he noticed the soldier.

"Where am I?" The question was nearly an order.

"Taris." He replied, slowly at first. "We crash landed here a while ago. I'm Carth. Carth Onasi. I was with you in the escape pod. Er. . . do you remember?" He kind of hoped the answer was 'no'.

"Yes."

'_Crap.'_

"Carth from the communicator. I remember you"

"Oh," Perhaps the rogue didn't remember anything that involved his injuries and their acquisition. "Well, you were banged up pretty bad from . . . the crash - luckily I made it out okay. I was able to pull you from the escape pod and bring you here."

The rogue made a motion to stand up, but instantly winced and put a pale hand against his head. "Ung . . . my head. Feels like someone's been slamming it against solid titanium sheeting."

"You've been, eh, slipping in and out of consciousness since we landed."

The rogue simply nodded. "And the Sith?"

"By the time the Sith arrived on the scene we were long gone." '_A white lie, but there's no need to make him think I'm an incompetent commander.'_

"I guess I owe you my life, then . . ."

"No, no you don't." _'Note to self, Carth: never try to look like a badass I-can-get-out-of-anything-no-matter-how-impossible-the-odds-are type of soldier again - you don't need any humans swearing wookiee life debts to you.' "_I don't leave men behind. Besides, I need your help if we're going to find Bastila."

"Bastila?" For a moment there was a spark of recognition in those golden eyes.

"Wow, that bump to your head must have done more damage than I thought. Bastila's a Jedi. She was with us on the Endar Spire before it was attacked. She's . . . she's a key part of the Republic war effort - without her . . . well, I don't want to think about it. We need to find her and help her."

"If she's a Jedi, she should be able to help herself." The rogue spoke in his arrogant little matter-of-fact tone. That was beginning to annoy the soldier.

"She's strong, yes, but even a Jedi can't take on an entire army. The Sith are looking for her - and the Sith have fallen Jedi on their side. I don't want them to catch her . . . I've heard terrible things about Sith interrogation techniques. They say the force can do terrible things to a mind - erase all of your memories and destroy your very identity. I won't let that happen to her."

"Then I suppose we should start searching for her."

"Agreed." He offered the man a hand up, and although the look on the rogue's face told him the assistance was unnecessary, the man didn't refuse the gesture and grasped his hand to pull himself off of the low, ratty bed. There was more or less an agreement made in that moment; the soldier would watch the rogue's back and for the most part vice versa. The real pact, however, was that they would work together to find Bastila, using their opposite strengths to their advantage.

Carth didn't have any reason to trust the man before him, especially given his shady past, and he was sure that the spice smuggler felt the same way about him. He remembered reading on the man's records that he knew a remarkable number of alien languages, and that would be very helpful. He had also somewhat witnessed the man in combat, and while he wasn't the strongest or boldest man he had ever saw fight, he was able to get the job done and didn't shy away from blood. He reminded him of maalraas in a way - lithe and fragile looking, but quick as a snake and deadly. Having him as an ally was going to be convenient. It was just then that the soldier thought of something that, for whatever reason, hadn't crossed his mind before.

"What is your name?"

The rogue's brows furrowed, and it seemed for a moment as though he wouldn't remember. But then quietly, he let a single word fall from his lips.

"Raven."

"Is that a nickname or something? I'm sure your papers said something along the lines of Aaedon or Aseron . . . something. I know you have a last name, at least."

Something about the way the rogue's eyebrows were still furrowed said that he wasn't one hundred percent certain, but his voice never wavered. The bumps to his head really must have mangled something to make him forget his own name.

"No . . . I'm pretty sure my name is Raven."

"Raven?"

"Raven."


	2. The Motley Crew

**Rating:** PG-13 (Some brief male genitalia jokes.)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything.

**To my reviewers**: Thank you. Your suggestions have been brilliant, and I will be adding a few. I intend to keep this going for a while - the Revan character is just too much fun to play around with!

And also: Apologies for the late update. has been being rather finicky with my stories.

Without further ado:

--------------------------------------------------- Chapter II---------------------------------------------------

**The Motley Crew**

"_We don't welcome your kind down here, Sith!_" A hideous alien face warbled at Carth.

"I don't like your tone, alien scum!" Carth drawled back in a near perfect impression of a pompous Sith soldier. He was, after all, wearing as suit of shiny Sith armor, but the stealth shielded rogue behind him was still working hard to suppress a moan. The Sith had no power down here, and a fight was eminent. He snuck into a better position behind the large group Carth was confronting, preparing to take out the leader quickly and painlessly. Well, painlessly on his part.

"_Vulkars! Teach this Sith fool that he's not in the upper city anymore!_" the leader warbled once again, but only for a moment. As the two grunts below him turned their attention to Carth, the thing's throat was slit from behind. The rogue held the corpse up for a moment, and it blocked a stray blaster shot from hitting him, and then kicked it forward to the ground, walking over it on his way to Carth once everything was mopped up.

"Cute impression, Onasi, but didn't you remember what the lift guard warned you about?" The pale skinned runner tilted his head in emphasis of the question.

"And what was I supposed to do?" the injured soldier panted. "Quickly change before they started talking to me?"

The runner almost gave him a look that said 'yes', but then realized that the soldier probably couldn't have pulled it off. Even if he did, would it have made a difference? Probably not. He decided to avoid yet another little argument. He did like the guy, after all, incompetent speaker and decision maker that he was. It would be a shame to kill him in a squabble over attire. He changed the subject.

"Nice shot." He tapped a corpse at his feet, which had a nicely-positioned blaster shot right above its nose. He then proceeded to pick the stun baton from his kill's grimy hand. It may become useful, after all.

For three days the Rogue and the Soldier had been working to find a way into the undercity. During those three days, the two kept silently vying with each other for control of the rescue mission, and each was beginning to rub against the other's nerves. In the end they decided to go their separate ways with two agreed-upon goals - Carth was charged with scouting for information and better equipment, while the rogue known only as Raven procured a suit of Sith armor and the cash to buy the new equipment with. Both were surprised when they learned that the other had succeeded.

Carth had discovered that survivors had been pulled up from the undercity, and that although they were doomed to die, they ended up in caring hands. However vague it may have been, he also caught tell of a good-looking female republic officer, and as there were few female anythings on board the Endar Spire it was very likely to have been Bastila that was spoken about. She was still alive, and apparently under a gang leader's ownership.

He also learned a bit about an odd plague that existed in the undercity. Rakghouls, they were called. Apparently mutants, their bite could infect anyone with their disease. He was offered rewards by two different people for a sample of the serum that cures the disease.

Holding up his end of the agreement, Raven had acquired a few sets of Sith armor in his time out alone. However, he hadn't actually found a suit small enough to fit his frame, and instead opted to simply follow Carth into the undercity undetected. They were also quite a few thousand credits richer. The rogue never mentioned how he came upon the small fortune.

Upon finally gaining entrance to this slummy portion of Taris, they were both surprised again. Neither was expecting to instantly run into a gang war. More disturbing was the fact that the surviving gang cut the other down with little to no effort. However, their own fight ended and (while carth was quite badly wounded) they had come out victorious. Carth had already injected himself with a medpac and was nearly healed, and so the two sat for a moment, catching their breath.

"You can take that armor off now. It's worthless down here."

"Oh, of course. I'll just strip right here on the street. Why not?"

'_Why not, indeed?'_

"I really don't think it's a good idea to parade around down here looking like Sith - these gangs hate them, and while I do like the idea of their extermination, I can't say that I would be fond of dying at the hands of an anarchist while disguised as one of the kath hounds myself. And, while I would have to congratulate them on taking down a deadly opponent such as myself, the actual death part may just ruin that little moment of pride felt for a stranger with a noble cause."

An awkward silence.

"Nice speech. I'm still not going to strip in the street, though."

A sigh. "Fine. It looks as though there are some apartments over there. Let's find a place for you to get out of that giant silver target."

And so the two strolled into a grimy apartment complex - even worse than the one they were currently holed up in, if that was possible - and were once again confronted by a small group of Vulkars. This trio was far less skilled than the first they dealt with, and in the end neither soldier nor rogue was scathed.

"Hmm." The rogue watched as Carth began to toy with a strange glowing device on one of the corpse's arms.

"An energy shield." The soldier declared, once the gadget was removed.

"Should come in useful."

"Quite." Carth agreed.

The two didn't have to argue over who needed the protection more - Carth the Blaster-bolt Magnet would take the trophy. He strapped it securely around his left arm and turned to face the rogue, his face eerily hid behind the Sith visor.

"There's an apartment right up ahead. I'll change suits there."

"Perhaps I should go with you." He was pretty sure that the soldier's face had crunched up in disgust. ". . . It may be occupied."

"If it is, I will handle it." He strode off to the door.

Just because something was nagging at the back of his mind almost like a warning of sorts - a little 'sixth sense' known as instinct - the rogue activated his stealth generator and followed the soldier anyway. If the coast was clear, he would simply wait outside. However, something just didn't feel right. He doubted the apartment was empty.

A soft whir of the doors mechanisms and then a beautiful woman was revealed. At least, she was beautiful until she spoke. The rogue wasn't one hundred percent certain, but judging from her expression she had just snarled something along the lines of 'get out of my apartment now, you Sith mongrel, or you're in for a very painful castration.'

However Carth, as smooth-worded as ever, seemed to have made the emasculation threat become a day on a beach of gorgeous women without the worry of little Onasi children (perfectly live-with-able) as this vicious little vixen was now practically baring her fangs to rip off the entirety of his genitalia. Carth didn't seem to be much of a ladies man. It was time for a little divine intervention.

He crept into the room.

The woman was now brandishing a nice looking blaster and yammering on about being a famous assassin, or murderer or something along those lines. Funny - as a bit of an assassin himself he would have noticed someone sneaking up behind him with a sharp, cold short sword. The self-proclaimed deadliest woman on the planet raised her pistol to face (and probably exterminate) the dumbstruck soldier before her. On Carth's behalf, he did at least raise his own blasters in preparation. None of it was necessary, though.

"Hello, love."

The woman had to stifle a gasp as his stealth shields flickered and fell, revealing to her peripheral vision the blade against her throat. Carth then took the opportunity to take off the sith visor, and oddly enough the lack of the cold, reflective mask made him instantly appear more human.

"I told you that I could handle it. Y-you didn't have . . . You don't have to babysit me- I can handle myself, Raven." The soldier, although somewhat obviously relieved, scolded the rogue in an embarrassed manner.

"Sure. Fine." He knocked the assassin's blaster from her hand, and removed a poorly concealed vibrosword from her side. Carth Picked them up. Raven then forced the woman to walk with him to a small table in her apartment and from there he sat her down. He took another seat opposite her.

"What do you want with me - are you here to collect my bounty? If so just get it over with. Don't toy with me." She spat venomously through perfectly poised lips. The rogue ignored her.

"So." He said. Quick, to the point and a blatant conversation starter. " You're hiding from bounty hunters, are you?"

No reply.

"Well, with the Sith control of Taris and this whole quarantine going on, one would have to assume that you have been here for a little while - your apartment suggests as much. At least long enough to know something about the republic escape pods that crashed down here a little while back, hmm?"

Again, no verbal reply, but a rather vexed glare was sent his way.

"You see, I am looking for someone." He spoke in a soft, distant tone (probing her verbally for a way into her head) and for the briefest of moments he saw something pass through her eyes that didn't scream 'I want to suffocate you with your own testicles'. He continued, somehow instantly knowing that she had lost someone dear to her once. A lover? A family member? A friend? It didn't matter. He would know soon enough, and that would be all he needed to gain her sympathy, and from there he could only hope the directions to this Jedi woman. Failing that, he would threaten, maim and torture.

"You aren't really with the Sith, are you?" He shook his head. "Alright. If you return my arms and promise me you'll leave, I _might_ have some information for you."

"If you give me your information, I'll return your arms and you will never see my face again." His tone had almost snapped back to interrogator, but he caught himself. A wounded Romeo, searching for his lover. That's who he was for now. "Please."

She tried to keep her fiery glare, but it faltered and broke under his own golden stare. The woman looked away, and he knew then that he had her. "Please." He repeated, "I am looking for a woman. She was aboard the Endar Spire, before it was attacked. Just a few hours earlier . . . I had asked her to marry me . . ."

The conversation went on, and after hearing the long, tear-filled story of how this woman became an assassin to avenge her husband's foul murder at the hands of Davik's thugs, they had learned that Bastila was, in fact, alive, but a slave to a gang leader named Brejik something-or-other. They were also surprised to learn that she was now a prize to be won.

The two left the apartment complex, Carth now in a heavy combat suit and Raven in Echani Foil armor that the two had attained. The assassin had been left vowing to change her ways, and Revan had been wished the best of luck finding his love. It was all very eery, and the soldier was slightly creeped out. Either the rogue had the uncanny ability to brainwash others, or he truly was in love with Bastila.

"I thought you had never seen Bastila before . . . your little story was so convincing it almost had me asking to be best man at your wedding." He laughed a short little chortle, and then stopped. "You're not really lovers, are you?"

"She could be a wookiee for all I know."

"Ah. Then you're a very good liar."

"Well, as she was a woman I figured a love story may be more apt to reveal information than the truth." He paused and reflected for a moment. "In fact, the truth is an odd story. You seem very determined to find this Jedi yourself, Carth Onasi. Is there anything that I should know?"

"Like what?" He then caught on. "What? N-no. It's nothing like that. You see, Bastila is - "

"The 'key to the entire Republic war effort.' I know." He paused for a second time. "It can't be so black and white. How can one Jedi alone be so important?"

"Bastila, well . . . she's not exactly like other Jedi. The force runs through her and aids her in a way that someone like myself could never understand. I-I don't even think the other Jedi understand it. I've fought under her, well, influence, once. I never missed a single shot, and was never grazed by bolt or blade. It was unbelievable."

"I'm not so sure I understand . . ."

"Ha, well. I know that I don't, so I can't help you there. Once you meet her you will know what I mean. There's just something about her that makes a soldier feel, well, feel invincible."

"So you love her."

"No! It's nothing like that!"

------------Some time later-----------

"So. You're saying that in order to get into the undercity, I need to work for you?"

"Something like that. Your Sith armor won't help you get past the gate guard down here. It may have worked in the upper city, but down below they have much tighter security. You'll need the proper papers. Lucky for you, I have them right here. I'll trade you- your disguises for the papers."

"Alright, deal." The rogue hadn't thought getting the papers from the blind old gang leader would be so easy. He basically traded dirt for a diamond.

He walked out of the Hidden Bek base, Carth beside him.

The two had run into a handful of interesting characters along the way to the Bek base, and through a little cajoling on the rogue's part had discovered Bastila's approximate whereabouts. She was to be offered as a slave prize, as the assassin woman had told them.

The thought of slavery disgusted the fair-skinned rogue in what anyone could assume was an atypical way. It wasn't entirely the slavers, or entirely the slaves, but a combination of pitiful helplessness on both sides that drove him to dislike the whole slaving enterprise. Slave owners un-admittedly depended upon their little bi-pedal dog's services and the slaves themselves were too weak and pathetic to rise up against their false masters. The lack of strength or spirit rubbed against his ambitious nerves.

Slavery aside, he was going to be the one to win her. Or so, that was the Hidden Bek leader Gaddon's plan. He had never raced a swoop bike before, but he felt confident enough that he would win. He had fast reflexes, after all. That had to count for something in this type of sport. And if not, well, he would just kill off any competition. Either way, he would win.

And so, now the Rogue was following a gang leader's plan to benefit them both. He would win Bastila by winning these swoop races, and that would prevent the Black Vulkars from taking over the undercity or something to that extent. He didn't really care about what happened to Taris once he left . . . the gangs could fight it out until they brought about the planet's apocalypse. It wouldn't matter - he would be long gone.

------- A Little Later ------

The pair had just left Gadon's Hidden Bek base, and were now looking down a long corridor that held the elevator to the undercity.

"Hey, Onasi, wait here." The runner said shortly before he seemingly crept into his own shadow.

"What fo-? . . . Oh." Then realization hit- the runner was going to attack the gate guard. "You moron! You're going to get us killed!"

But nevertheless, he irritably waited and secretly hoped for the rogue's well being. He would never admit it aloud, but he was really beginning to like the little piece of slime. And he wouldn't even admit it to himself, but without the snarly maalraas' assistance, he wouldn't have made it this far. The rogue, Raven, was all but invaluable to his mission. He kept his blasters aimed steadily at the Sith guarding the entrance to the undercity, in case something should go wrong.

However, he simply watched from hiding as the sith fell into a pool of its own blood, gurgling incoherently. Raven stood behind it - an eery little shadow of destruction - nonchalantly, as if he had merely stepped on an insect below his recognition.

"You idiot! We . . . we _have the proper papers!" _Carth sputtered, as he reached the rogue. "Soldier, there was no need to take such a risk!"

The golden irises that still seemed so very inhuman glowed back at him through the shadow of the doorway. "I'm not a soldier."

Meaning, or course, _'I am not under your command.'_

The noise that came from Carth then could have been a sigh or a growl, but was most likely a combination of the two: absolute exasperation. "It doesn't matter - that isn't the important part. You charged a guy surrounded by blaster turrets!"

"So?"

Another growl, and a hand raised to a throbbing temple.

"Don't get so upset, Onasi. The man needed to die. He was Sith, and they're the enemy."

The soldier didn't respond, surprisingly enough. The set of his jaw line and steady gaze indicated that he had registered the comment, and was quite possibly thinking about it, though. The clear, black and white if-it's-our-enemy-it-must-die mentality of the rogue was beginning to take roots in the soldier's mind now, or he was at least beginning to play around with the idea. They were at war, after all. If it is an enemy, it must die.

He looked back at the turrets for the briefest of moments, then shook his head in a way that simply indicated his giving in to the rogue's ambitious slaughter-all tactics.

"Well, let's get going." The rogue made an exaggerated waving motion into the doorway that said 'after you' in an exceptionally ridiculous manner that, probably as intended, lightened the mood.

"Whatever. Just, just don't get yourself killed." A half moment of consideration. "Or me either, as far as that goes."

The soldier walked forward and stepped into the elevator, and the rogue followed shortly after.

They were one step closer to Bastila.


	3. Rrrrrrrrrrrargh rrrrr RRrrrRrrgh rr

**Rating: PG-13 (Nothing worse than usual. ;P)**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything but the words I write.

**Pre-Fiction Ramblings: **I am at college and having some issues finding the time to write. I apologize for the inconvenience.

**Alsooo:** The beginning of this chapter is far less chipper and goofy. I don't intend to keep the mood of the story so emo-esque. I just had a nasty day when I started writing. You know how that goes.

**Lastly and importantly: **I have not played this game in a looong time, and the order of events in the beginning has kind of been lost to me. This is inconsistent with the actual storyline, but I figure this version of Revan I created has his own way of doing things anyway. Besides, you already know what happens, right?

I'm out to mix things up a bit on purpose now.

Without further ado:

----------------------------Chapter III---------------------------

**Rrrrrrrrrrrargh rrrrr RRrrrRrrgh rr**

Pungent odors, desperation, and a general air of madness. That is what met the two at the bottom of the lift into the depths of Taris - and it wasn't a very friendly sight.

In fact, the first words out of the man's mouth were spoken to demand credits. Raven, of course, simply convinced the walking mound of slime and flesh that they were unnecessary slips of paper that would do him no good, and that he would be much better off hunting for his own food outside this civilization's gates. So, naturally, the creature ran off to do just that.

"Isn't. . . isn't it very possible that he will die out there?" Carth observed shortly after it had left them.

"Absolutely."

"Then why not just give the beggar five credits and let him live another day?"

"Because the sooner he stops leeching off of those who have enough ambition to make their own living, the better the world here will be."

"So you would send him to his death?" The soldier asked, a little disturbed by his companion's cruel actions and beliefs.

"The day a man stops breathing for himself is the day he dies, and that piece of core-slime has been deceased for a long, long time. I have only matched the state of his body with the state of his mind, and in doing so I got rid of a minor virus in this infected and pussing orifice in space."

The soldier was, as to be expected, a little taken aback by his companions sudden change in attitude.

"What's wrong with you?" He grabbed the runner's shoulder in a gentle but demanding manner. "You're generally irritable on a good day, but this is absolutely ridiculous."

Raven shrugged his hand away, his borderline-pleasant mood from just up the lift rapidly decaying.

"Let's just keep moving. This place disgusts me."

And so they did, with Carth tagging along behind the snippy rogue feeling confused as hell.

After following the criminal for a good length of time as the man put together pieces of various puzzles, he noticed a few things about the criminal that he hadn't noticed before - and this was somewhat astounding because of the the fact he was able to give the small runner a decent examination when he had patched him up. There were some things about the rogue that were changing, or at least he thought there were. He couldn't really be one hundred percent sure, because the changes were so peculiar.

For instance, he could have sworn that the rogue had silver hair when he had first met him - yes, it had been shaven off, but the stubble just wasn't black like the man's hair was now that it had grown out a bit. He was Echani, after all. Wasn't he?

Although the runner had the fine, almost feminine features of an Echani warrior, the dark hair threw off that image entirely. Carth couldn't decide what race this man was - his papers were stamped Echani, but his crude views on the galaxy and appearance made him something else. Something that didn't really have a classification of race. Carth couldn't place it, but there was just something unworldly about this 'Raven'.

About five foot ten, barely one hundred and fifty pounds of nothing but well-defined muscle that was trained onto him, not worked, skin as pale as the whites of his eyes, eyes as golden as any predators, and a manner of acting that placed him above his position on the Endar Spire. It didn't add up.

The man was a very charismatic leader, with an uncanny ability to convince anyone of anything. He was a good fighter with unmatched agility and precision, and killed without remorse, as if he had conquered entire planets in his past. He was the kind of man who Carth believed invincible, even after having seen how fragile he was. He simply wasn't a foot soldier, or a hireling, or even a criminal for that matter. None of the roles he played seemed to fit him.

Perhaps that was the root of his unhappiness. It was as though he was taken from his place in the world and thrown into an entirely new niche - and the results were comparable to those of a firaxen shark thrown from Manaan to Tatooine. He still carried himself well, but after doing nothing but observing him for five hours, Carth determined that the man was lost and out of his element. With any other man this could have looked comical, but not with the anthropomorphic piss-and-moan beast in front of him. No, it was, simply put, unbearable.

"Raven."

He was met with a bitter golden stare.

"What is wrong with you?! You're -"

"Soldier, I just want to be out of this place as soon as possible. It reeks with weakness and mental decay. The things that live down here . . . I don't know. They make my skin crawl. Disgusting."

"Nobody ever said it would be a walk through Dantooine."

"I know." A sound of exasperation. "I know. It's just so repulsive. . . they do _nothing_ about the way they're forced to live. Worse, they ask me to help them fix it." He ran a thin fingered hand through the stubble atop his head. "I . . . I apologize if I have taken any of my frustrations out on you."

_You malraas. . . I should beat your head to a bloody pulp for how, how just how immensely irritating and demanding . . . _

"It's no problem." The soldier decided against a fight. After all, his partner in saving the galaxy was finally becoming more human in nature. There was no need to bring the kath hound back.

Raven was staring somewhat blankly at nothing in particular when Carth looked back at him. Silently twirling the little stun baton he picked up off of the Vulkar, he appeared to be thinking somewhat intensely. Then his eyes snapped back to the Soldiers, and whatever he was thinking of was resolved in his mind.

"Only one way to go, soldier."

"Out of this cesspool?" The soldier asked, somewhat anxiously.

"Yes. Out." The grin that followed his words said more than his voice did about how happy he was to be gone with the stink hole.

The two made their way to the town gates.

* * *

They hadn't made it two steps out of the 'civilization' when they were met by yet another unpleasant sight. Some twi'ilek girl that they had seen at Gadon's place. He had told them that she would be one to help them sneak into the Vulkar base, but seeing her begging for their help, they doubted Gadon's trust in her. 

"What do you mean? You lost a wookiee? How do you just lose a wookiee?" Raven asked dubiously.

"I didn't 'lose' him!" The blue twi'ilek snapped back at him. "He was stolen! He was caught by gamorrean slave traders! He told me to run, so I did. I thought he was right behind me!"

"Some friend you are." Carth muttered.

"I suppose you couldn't have done very much, and looking out for your own skin is always important." Raven stated. "Besides. . . a wookiee can handle itself. Well, usually. How is it that your furry friend couldn't take on a couple pigs?"

"It wasn't just 'a couple'." She said with a snort of indignation. "There were too many for anybody to take on at once. Even Zaalbar."

"Then why are you planning on rescuing him? If there are too many for anybody to take on, then your mission will be quite short, my dear . . . hmm." Raven, at a loss for her name, gestured for her to fill in the blank.

"Mission." The kid shot at him. "You can call me Mission."

"Well. Lovely."

"Wha- . . . No, never mind! We need to get to Zaalbar and save him! We can talk later! If you help me I'll get you into the Vulkar's back door no problem!"

"I'm certain I could do the same." The rogue mused for a moment. "But no matter. You obviously know the sewers better than I judging by your sce - eh, your certainty of posture." Even the venom-tongued rogue was above commenting on physical appearances. Ad Hominem. Never gives a good first impression. Not that it mattered.

She gave him a sharp glare at the quick slip, but seemingly decided to let it go. She was in desperate need of his help, after all. Why wouldn't she be? Everyone else was. . .

"Well, then let's get going before Darth Angst over here rears his ugly head again." Carth offered with a thumb pointed towards Raven.

"Indeed." The rogue let the word slide from his lips in a threatening drawl. The soldier just shot him a quick grin, almost embarrassed looking in a way but mostly a good-natured "sheesh, don't kill me I was just kidding" look, before falling back into line. The rogue was feeling much less tense after leaving the city, after all. No need to kill off his brash meat-head of a companion. Yet, at least. He just let his lip curl upwards in response. '_All right, funny the first time, but don't let it happen again, buddy.'_

"Well then c'mon! This way!" Mission began striding towards a ladder into – what else? - sewers.

* * *

The majority of their trounce through the filthiest portion of the planet was uneventful – Gammoreans everywhere but none that put up much of a fight. The three of them easily cut and blasted a way through the tunnels. 

In fact, the rogue had to admit to himself that he was impressed by the girl Twi'ilek. Not overly so, but impressed nonetheless. She was tougher than he had first thought she ever could be, and he was usually a good judge of skill and character. She could use some training, but mostly she wielded her weapon well.

"Where to next? I'd prefer we find your pet and get out of here before we end up permanently smelling of sewage." The rogue off-handedly asked Mission.

"I think just ahead – I remember running past this broken door." She said tensely.

Sure enough, as soon as they rounded the corner they were met by nine angry-faced gammoreans. The beasts grunted in their own language and then charged. Not wasting any time, as they were heavily outnumbered, the runner leaped in a graceful arch into the center of the group. He knew that he could dodge their blows, but his companions would fare far worse – well, Carth at least. His armour was practically one giant metal dent. He would keep their attention on him while the two picked away at them with their blasters. Hopefully their aim was true – he wouldn't like getting hit from behind.

The first of the green pig-people fell easily. A quick feint and jab at the throat put it down just in time for the rogue to slide around the falling corpse and surprise another with a stun baton to the forehead. The beast was left immobilized and stupid at the mercy of the gunners. It fell just as fast as the first. The rogue then propelled himself towards the back of a beast facing Mission, ran it through, and nimbly leapt from that creatures back to another's face, kicking it's jaw upwards into its skull. A quick dash and two precisely aimed slashes later, another couple fell.

As he pulled the short sword from the cerebellum of the last standing gammorean, he looked up to see that Mission must have stopped firing her weapon a while ago. She was staring at him, eyes wide and jaw slightly slack. He cocked an eyebrow, curious as to what had her so stunned. Was she injured? She didn't appear to be bleeding, and he distinctly remembered not letting her get hit.

"What?" He straightened, and with a flick of his wrist sent the thick pig-blood from his sword.

"You. . . who are you?!" She asked before shaking her head and regaining her composure. "I've never seen anyone take on so many opponents so easily! I thought we were done for when we ran into them." She cast a quick glance around the room, almost as if the reassure herself there were actually so many of the pigs. "You're pretty cool, mister. Even if you are a bit of a stubborn Bantha. Have you considered fighting in the Arena? I'm sure you'd give even Bendack Starkiller a run for his credits!"

"Actually, I already have a little bit." The rogue admitted while searching the corpses for anything useful.

"Oh, so that's where the credits you got came from!" Carth let out a sigh of relief, then continued with a small chuckle. "All this time I was trying, and I suppose failing, to convince myself you hadn't just mugged elderly citizens for it."

"Well, that too." The rogue commented as he tossed yet another energy shield to the bullet magnet. "Yes, a good deal of the credits I earned have come from the arena. It seemed the easiest way to make a quick thousand or so. You wouldn't believe the bozos they have there. The worst part is that people actually cheer for them. I've never faced more incompetent fighters."

"How far did you end up getting, Raven?" Mission asked with a hint of genuine curiosity.

"I'm not sure. Far enough. Nobody's willing to fight me anymore, at any rate." He stood back up. The pigs only had a handful of credits on them and two energy shields – the second of which he handed to mission as he walked past her.

"I could imagine after seeing that." She whistled. "You must have been something to see. I'm a little disappointed I missed your matches."

"Don't be."

"Did you already defeat Starkiller?"

"Who?" The question was accompanied with an elevated eyebrow. The name meant nothing to him.

"Who?!" She shook her head and laughed. "Ugh, nevermind. We'll talk about it later. These were the pigs that took Zaalbar – if they haven't left yet he must still be here! Let's get him."

The rogue nodded in agreement. The sooner the wookiee was located the sooner he'd get into the base and the sooner he'd be off this backwater planet. He strode forward and broke through the next door's security system with ease. Sure enough, once the access kicked open they were met by the churl of a wookiee's overjoyed greeting.

"_Mission! I'm so glad you're all right!" _He growled in his rumbling language.

"I'm just glad you're not serving some over-inflated pig his dinner!"

The wookiee Zaalbar's following roar made Carth jump. _"Gammorean scum! My own planet is being harvested for slaves, and here I am, almost fallen to the same fate! I was worried that I would be forced to serve under those who would harness my people's strength. I am grateful that you returned, Mission." _He turned to face the soldier and rogue. "_Who are your companions?"_

"The soldier is Carth Onasi." Carth nodded in acknowledgment. "And this is Raven. We couldn't have made it this far without him – you should have seen him kill those pigs guarding you Zaalbar!"

"_You killed the guards?"_ The wookiee looked down at the slim figure before him, somewhat in disbelief._ "If Mission says it, it must be true. You have saved me from a horrible fate. I am greatly in your debt. . ."_

"Zaalbar?" Mission spoke with concern in her young voice.

"_I owe you my life._" The behemoth of a biped knelt down before the rogue – and still managed to be nearly as tall as him – before continuing his pledge. "_You have saved me from a lifetime of unwilling servitude. This is the only way I see fit to repay you._"

Carth, presumably not understanding the wookiee's churls and growls, just stared at the scene with a confused look on his scruffy face. It was a little while before anyone spoke again.

"Wow – Zaalbar swearing a wookiee life debt to you? This is BIG!" Are you sure, big guy?" The wookiee only lowered his head further in a nod to respond. "Wow. Do you know what this means?" She asked the rogue.

"That we're is going to have two more mouths to feed?"

"Two?" Carth pondered aloud before realizing that the rogue spoke of Mission as well as Zaalbar. Apparently he felt the need to keep speaking, because he did just that. "Oh! Well, it's not like rations have been a problem before . . . with how little you eat." He tried jabbing at humor, but failed. "I'm sure it won't be a problem."

"Have you ever had to feed a wookiee before?" The rogue looked pointedly at Carth, slender black eyebrow raised.

"Er, well. . . " He glanced at the lumbering beast before him, but just shook his head. "We'll just have to buy more then. No big deal. We can't just leave him behind, after all."

The rogue didn't respond, and instead just kept walking back in the direction of the Vulkar base. Without question, the wookiee followed, and then the girl. Carth looked back quickly, as if debating whether or not he should simply return to the abandoned apartment before following the triad.

* * *

Busting into the vulkar base was pretty uneventful. That is, aside from running into a giant rancor. 

The beast lumbered over them, and it was larger than anything the rogue had ever seen, nonetheless faced. Mission believed that they should simply sneak past it - and that would have been the Raven's first plan if not for the fact they had a wookiee and a lumbering soldier tagging along. While the thought of Carth attempting to sneak past that giant beast of destruction was humorous, the thought of watching him inevitabley shredded and pounded to bits was far less so.

"No, I think we'll have to kill it." He finally stated, destroying the thoughtful silence he had created.

"Wha-WHAT?!" It was Mission who spoke first, conveying what must have been the group's general consensus of thought.

"I highly doubt your wookiee friend over there is any more graceful than Carth is." The two oafs-in-queation tried to protest, but he continued. "We could sneak on ahead, but even you don't know what awaits us in the base. We may need their strength. That is their talent, after all. Strength. Not stealth. Even if we _had_ enough generators, it would mean nothing. . . they weren't built for slinking around in shadows like you or me."

"I know. . . but still. That has to be less suicidal than trying to kill it head on!"

The rogue sighed. "Not head on. Do you not listen? We'll use our own strengths as well as that beast's weaknesses to overcome it."

"May as well hear what he has to say." Carth offered. "He hasn't screwed anything up since I've been working with him, anyway."

"I wasn't asking your opinion, gramps."

The two were abut to start yet another round of pointless bickering, but the rogue cut it short with a quick motion of his hand.

"Listen. That thing cannot fit through these doorways. If worse comes to worse, we simply retreat, wait for its pea-brain to forget we were here, and try another plan." The Twi'lek sat herself back down to listen. "All right. You and I, while not particularly gruesome with our attacks, can still be deadly with our accuracy. We both will sneak beneath this creature, I to its left leg, you to its right, and cut its tendons. That should be enough to fall it. From there it's a matter of keeping it down as our muscles over here bash its skull in."

He handed Carth a battle axe he picked up off a gammorean, furthering the point.

"I'm not trained exessively in melee. . ." The soldier bagan.

"Carth. You slam the sharp end into it until it dies. If you miss a target that big I may have to beat you myself." He shrugged. "If it becomes apparent the beast may be able to strike back, get out of there fast. Myself and Mission will fall under our cloaks again and join you back here. Hopefully we won't need the rendevous. Ready?"

The three nodded.

"Good." and with that he disappeared, and Mission followed suit. The hunt had started.

The two managed to get beneath it without being detected, and upon nodding to each other (each had dealt with stealth shields enough to see the other without much problem) they launched their attack. The beast made a large growling howl as its ankles quickly became limp, staggering slightly, giving the two access to what passed as its knees. They massacred its musculature at the joints - the skin was tough but tearing under their well-aimed blows - then made their way to its arms and shoulders . If the soldiers were going to stand a chance, the thing couldn't be hitting them.

They didn't need to assault it for long, though, as the beast ceased to move far too quickly. The two rogues hopped over their respective arms, perplexed, to see that the things head was practically _gone_. They hadn't heard an explosion but. . .

"Well, um." Carth stumbled over his words. "I went to throw a grenade, thinking it would soften old lumpy's skin for us, and uh. . . sort of let loose a thermal detonator."

There was a stunned silence, wherein the rogue bit back the urge to laugh at the soldier's reaction. Really, the situation was quite rediculous.

Mission was the first to speak and just whistled, looking back at the carnage. "Nice aim."

* * *

Upon entering the actual base, the four slaughtered their way through scores of differing variants of scum, and eventually came to a room that was full of what appeared to be higher ranking gang members, judging by their manner of dress and speaking. 

"I see the swoop they're modifying." The rogue said after glancing through a window into the room again. "There's another bulky part beside it, on the floor. That must be the accelerator Gadon wanted us to find so badly."

"Well? Let's go get it then." Carth said, raising his pistols.

"Right."

And so, a few bloody minutes later, they had the heavy little device. Raven left the corpse looting to his misfit little crew, not particularly interested in upgrading his own equipment just yet, and took the few moments alone to look over the swoop bike and shop.

The bike itself was not impressive. He knew that he could manage such a machine easily enough, but had no urge to do so. The whole sport was risky, and not in an overly profitable way. It was just a way for gangs down here to claim some form of honor or another. He didn't quite understand its importance. Either way, he did not want to ride for Gadon - he simply wanted to be done with this little ploy of his, give the geezer his accelerator as to keep his word, then bust into the track tomorrow and take Bastila without playing that stupid racing game.

He was broken from his meaningless reverie by the young twi'lek. She had managed to get decently close to him without his noticing, and though he didn't let any hint of his surprise show, he was certain that she somehow knew of the fact she had managed to catch him off guard. The kid was pretty good at keeping her presence to a minimum. Well, when she wanted to, anyway.

"So. What now?" She asked harmlessly, still managing to erk him.

"We deliver this device to your boss."

"That all?" She looked up at him curiously. "How did Gadon get someone like you to run errands for him? You must be getting something in return. . . "

"Of course. I wanted access to this slime hole of an undercity."

"Really?" Her face scrunched up in a look of disbelief. "That's it?"

He returned his gaze to her. "Yes."

"Why? This place isn't exactly a popular tourist attraction."

"I have my reasons."

"Ohhh. I see. The republic escape pods. I wondered why you spent so much time looking around the crash sites. You're looking for someone. . . aren't you?"

He just shrugged.

"Who? I may know something." She tried bribing him.

"I already know where she is. I just need to beat a bunch of swoop racers to her." He gave the girl a quick wink – '_nice try kid, but you're two steps behind me_' – and walked back to the rest of the group's male population.

"All right. Let's head out. We've got what we've come for." he rogue said as he tossed the weighty mechanism to the wookiee.

* * *

"Yes, this is the prototype accelerator. Excellent!" Gadon was smiling broadly as he handed the piece off to one of his subordinates – probably head mechanic.

"I will require one more small favor before I hand this over, Gadon." The rogue said as Zaalbar blocked the mechanic's retreat.

"And what might that be?" The leader asked with more than a hint of unease in his voice.

"I would like to know the location of the race, and have access to the Prize."

Gadon exhaled his relief. "That's an easy one, kid. I'll have you race under the Hidden Bek colors."

"What!?" His twi'lek bodyguard bursted out. "You can't trust this stranger with something so important!"

"Silence."

"But Gadon! What of our racers!? They've been training for this and racing all their lives. You _can't_ entrust such responsibility to a rookie!"

"I have no intentions of racing for you, Gadon." The rogue cooly ignored the raging twi'lek.

"I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter, if you want this Bastila of yours."

"I don't think you heard me, old man." There was a new edge his voice. Irritation. "I am not racing for you."

"Very well then, but don't expect me to help you any further. You cannot fight your way out of this one, kid. I am the key to getting you into this race, and in killing me you lose any chance of getting what you want."

He was right. The rogue swore to himself. If there was one thing he hated, it was when someone had the upper hand in a disagreement with him. Fine, then. The rogue would play his little game for a while, but he still wasn't going to help the old bastard.

"Very well, then." He said, a menacing crispness to his words. "I'll sit atop that explosion-doomed bike of yours. However, I know you know that you're getting a hell of a lot more out of this little bargain than I. I want a little monetary compensation as well."

A short silence, but the leader seemed to take his bait, thinking the rogue simply wanted to feel as though he was in control of the situation. As if he were a mere mercenary . . . he was _always_ in charge. He smiled inside as the gang leader spoke the single worded reply: "Fine."

"Fine." He allowed that inner smile to manifest itself upon his lips. He didn't want power over the situation. . . he _had_ it. And now he was a bit richer to boot.

* * *

Raven had, against his little crew's will, spent the night alone in the bek base at Gadon's request.

The beds were rough and quite possibly less comfortable than those in the shabby apartment base. He gave up on sleep early -never having needed a full night sleep to function properly anyway - and instead simply lay, thinking as he left his body in an inanimate state. The lack of motion would be enough to reserve his current strength for tomorrow.

He used the time to think further on something that had been bothering him for a while. Why was he so determined to save this Jedi Bastila?

Sure, the soldier Carth believed whole-heartedly that she was, as he never failed to remind him, the key to the entire republic war effort, but why was he still on this backwater planet? The soldier had done him a good turn by saving his life, and that had to be worth something. He could have done very little if he was as stupefied by the fall to Taris as the soldier said. He still couldn't help but think he wasn't getting the whole story, though. I wasn't like him to pass out.

No, there was something more to this goose chase. Take away all logic, and he found himself _wanting_ to find the Jedi woman. He couldn't even recall ever meeting her, and the name held no meaning to him, but something in the back of his mind urged him to get a hold of her.

It simply made no sense.

Unless she really was so powerful that she could call out to others, or simply attract those who, like himself, were more or less power hungry. That wasn't likely either, though. Surely a Jedi couldn't make herself seem appealing. . . and even if she could, why would she?

There was only one logical answer to his little question. That being, of course, that there wasn't one.

He should be long gone. And yet, there he lay. In a slummy little gang's base, on a backwater planet, inhaling filth. Not only that, but by gaining that little wookiee slave of his he only further entangled himself in the whole 'save the world' game that his meat head of a companion seemed so willing to play. He grunted his disgust aloud.

Simply to put his mind at ease, he told himself he was doing this to repay his debt to that blaster-bolt magnet. He then forced himself to sleep before he began thinking about how impossible it would be to rid himself of his companions. . . company.

* * *

The next morning was no different than the night before – there really wasn't light or weather down here, so the fact it felt the same shouldn't have surprised him. Feeling like morning or not, he was still pulled from his meditative state by an ugly little rodian.

He was offered breakfast, which he only too happily refused, before he was led to the location of the swoop track.

Upon arriving he was put under the instruction of an ithorian mechanic, who did little more than warble on about how the ship may explode and that he shouldn't worry. The rogue stopped listening to him before he even started talking. He had no intentions of racing that thing. Why risk life and limb when his prize lay right before him?

And it did. For the first time he caught a glimpse of this Jedi woman that he had been sent after. She wasn't overly impressive – an attractive woman, yes, but just that and apparently nothing more. She almost appeared to be asleep, for crying out loud. He shook his head, though. If there was one thing he had ever learned, and was himself a living lesson on the topic of, it was that appearances shouldn't be used to judge a person's strengths.

But then came the problem. It was hard to actually get a good look at her because of the crowds in this place. He laughed for a second. The little gathering hole for racers, mechanics, and whatnot was breaming with gang members, Bek, Vulkar and otherwise. Fighting his way to the cage across the room was just as suicidal as racing.

"But, at least this way I am fighting for my own purposes, and not your old goat's." He said aloud to the confused mechanic as he drew his blade and slit the things. . . well, what he assumed was its throat. Regardless of what it was, the equivalent of blood spilled and the glorified tapeworm fell dead.

_One down._

Violence being a pretty common thing among gang members, it came with little shock that nobody really seemed to notice, or care, that he had cut down his mechanic. However, cutting through the rest of the crowd would, undoubtedly, draw attention, so he decided on a more nonchalant course of action.

He walked over to the Jedi woman's cage and bashed it open.

Before anyone had the time to respond, nevertheless the rogue himself, the woman had sprung from her prison and killed one of her captures, claiming his double-sided vibroblade as her own. It was only from there that he blinked and shook off his shock. He had intended on carrying the unconscious woman out while dodging attacks, but fighting (and protecting a risen zombie Jedi) all the way back to that entrance through a sea of angry faces would. . . well, it would be more interesting, at any rate.

And so he ducked and weaved and slashed and killed his way to the Jedi's back. Of course upon taking up watching her six, he found that he spent too much time dodging the opposite ends of her blade to make teamwork worth while.

It wasn't as though it mattered, as by the time he decided to fight his own way they were both left with nothing else to oppose them. He flicked the blood off of his blade and returned it to his side before facing the woman whom he just rescued.

"Bastila, I presume." He found himself annoyed when the arrogant little Jedi didn't even turn to acknowledge him. "I think you owe your rescuer-"

"If you intend to take me as your prize . . . " Her tone was sharp. Too sharp. The threat of a spoiled little brat, and he wasn't going to put up with it.

"You're coming with me." He cut her off before she could enlighten him to how he would die by her hand.

"The nerve! How dare you-" Her voice trailed off as she finally turned to look him in the eye, and he couldn't help but smirk as her jaw went slightly limp. "You. . . I know you. You were on board the Endar Spire. You're-"

"Raven."

* * *

_Revan._

_Darth Revan. _

Bastila felt as though her heart jumped into her throat as the name, so close . . . too close to his true identity slipped from his grinning lips. His memory. . . his altered memory must be failing. The man before her should be the humble, good natured, well-mannered Aidon, not . . .

She looked at him, seeing beyond his eyes to his features, hair, and stance. He did _not _look to be Echani, as he had when the council had replaced his identity. She had seen his face only as it was after the council had removed the dark side's taint from him. He had the fair features of an Echani rogue – along with silvery blue eyes and silver hair. The only thing that remained of that man now was the silvery pale skin, and even that was beginning to look as though it were charred black. His once agreeable face had also begun to blacken around his features . . . and his eyes.

_Is this the face that was behind that mask?_

For the briefest of moments, she panicked.

What would she do if his memories returned? If seeing her face was all it would take to spark them, what _could_ she do? She had fought the beast once before, and she could not kill him, even when she had strong allies. He was a monster, a creature incapable of anything but destruction, and built perfectly to do just that.

She forced herself calm. He was not out of her control yet.

"So. What did you intend to do once you 'rescued' me." She broke the silence. When he didn't answer she continued prodding. "This is the worst rescue I've ever heard of. . . if anything I would say that it was I who rescued you."

Well, it was true of Revan, but 'Raven' wasn't amused.

"Please. You were trapped in a cage drooling over yourself. If I hadn't saved you, you would no doubt be some alien's love slave by now." He never lost that smirk. It was downright annoying!

"Hmph! Very well then, if it will please you, you can pretend that you rescued me. Very good. But I still asked you a question. Now what? What is my hero's next brilliant move?" Her tone was much calmer than she, and to her ears she sounded as though she was begging him to give her a reason to kill him.

He ignored her and turned his attention instead to something on a corpse near his feet. Continuing with no concern at all he stooped over in a way that was far to graceful for a man. At least he still moved as an Echani, though the thought did little to ease her discomfort. Whatever comfort was left in her fled when he lifted that which caught his attention from the ground.

It was her lightsaber.

She was left wordless and holding her breath as he raised it to look it over curiously, brows furrowed. He hit the activation switch and only narrowly dodged the secondary beam as the saber flared to life. He chuckled then, as he deactivated the lethal weapon and extended it to her.

"Well, This will be yours then, won't it?"

"Y-yes." She collected herself, feeling much better now that her lightsaber was back in her hands. "Thank you."

"Right." His smirk settled to a more serious expression on the word. "To answer your question, dearest damsel-saved-from-distress, I have no idea." The grin was back, albeit more genuine. "That's up to that blockhead Onasi. I'm just retrieving the key to his war effort." His golden irises circled round.

It was all so surreal. Actually seeing the former Revan doing anything mundane - so mundane as rolling his eyes - was incredibly unnerving. It was a one-sided tension that only she felt, though, and she was practically pleading with her body to move normally, act the part as if nothing in the world were wrong - aside being stuck with a 'pitiful stranger'. However, every thread and fiber of her being was pulled taut, ready to pounce as if he'd revert to his former self any moment.

It was probably the discomfort she experienced from being so close to Darth Revan, the man that had once fought her with every intention of killing her, that had caused her to miss Carth's name at first. However, once realization struck home she was overjoyed.

"Onasi? _Carth_ Onasi?!" He gave a short, slow nod paying little attention to the subject. "That's wonderful! Where is he now? We should meet up with him at once."

"We will, soon enough."

"I'd rather see him as soon as possible."

_That's odd_. She could have sworn she caught something in his eye akin to emotion for a moment. However unlikely a scenario it seemed, given what she knew of the beast before her, she still refused to dismiss the possibility. After all, she had been watching him diligently since he first made his presence aware to her. Something had flickered across his expression for a moment, regardless of what it was. She almost laughed at the thought of him having any human-like qualities such as emotion, though. The creature before her only had a human shell.

He started leading the way out, then, lightly picking his way through corpses. She hardened herself against trusting the man and chose her own way to the doorway, reaching it the same time he did.

"Normally I'd be the gentleman and allow the lady to go first, but I do believe this would be far less mentally straining if you simply let me lead the way, hmm?"

And with that handful of words he opened the access and stepped in front of her. Did he really always need to be in control? His almost childish urge to be in charge sickened her. She found herself wanting to knock him off his high horse, almost needing to force him back down to earth. But she checked herself. Such thoughts were those that lead to the dark side. And she'd be damned if she ever let her face be marred up like his.

Swallowing her pride, she fell in step behind the creature, and followed it out of the little hellhole.

* * *

**Authoress' note:** Oh dear. I appear to be in a bit of a slump. I really need to work on being consistent with whose point of view the story is being told from. I hope it isn't horribly distracting.

Also, Carth isn't stuttering very much. I hope that doesn't make him feel out of character, but the whole "t-t-t-today junior!" Aspect of this character had always annoyed me. I suppose if readers prefer the more in-character way of talking I could start from here on out, though.

Oh, and if I said 'Ebon Hawk' before this point, I meant 'Shitty old abandoned apartment'. )

And also, much love to my reviewers. 3

From this point on it's going to be infinitely more fun. Trust me.


	4. Death Match

**Rating: PG-13 (One nasty battle)**

**Pre-Fiction Ramble:** Sooo, the chapters are lengthening, eh? Expect a lot of fun (or angst) now that Bastila has joined the fray. Oh, the things I'm going to be doing to poor Revan this chapter. . .

Without further ado:

-----Chapter IV-----

**Death match**

_Tense_.

Bastila was so on edge that she could scarcely concentrate on anything but the dark figure in front of her. Every step the creature took, every little motion made by hand or head – nothing went without note. She nearly choked when her 'rescuer' looked back at her with those golden eyes, quickly pinning her to the spot.

She had dealt with those tainted by the dark side, and she had seen the strange effects it could have on appearance, but nothing frightened her so much as those sharp golden irises. His features shifted ever so slightly after a moment of silence, into an expression she simply couldn't read. He took a step back towards her then, and it took everything she had – training, willpower, and sheer strength – to keep up the facade of normalcy she had built.

"Is something wrong?"

His voice was laced with slight concern, and his mannerisms were innocent enough, but everything normal -or worse, _kind_ – that the man did only served to shatter her resolve even further. This wasn't how he was supposed to be . . . he was born a creature of unfathomable evil. He . . . he wasn't the man before her, which was actually capable of human interaction.

His shoulders dropped slightly at her lack of a response, and she realized her face was pulled into a rather unfriendly grimace. His disheartened posture – which was barely different from his standard posture, but easily discernible as a result of her constant supervision – confused her.

He looked like a vicious beast that had been beaten for offering kindness in place of cruelty.

"I'm fine." She lied, feeling the smallest twinge of guilt for how she was treating him for the first time – she was almost encouraging him to lash out.

"Of course." He shook his head, then continued pacing forward.

The Jedi Consular found herself stunned. Was it possible that even animals had the capacity for understanding the emotions of others? For offering concern?

He was existing under an illusion. Yet even so he had managed to pull his dark self from the mirage, transforming his very form. That wasn't right, though. She had never known the man that came before Darth Revan. How could she judge what was or wasn't him? He was, after all, far more perceptive than she ever would have given him credit for before spending a little time with him.

One thing was undeniable, though, and that was that this creature simply had a dark heart. His beastly eyes and blackened self were proof enough.

But the kindness that he always bit back – she had caught him showing just enough concern for her well being to know that he wasn't entirely self absorbed. Why would he hide that side of himself, though, if it truly did exist?

What did he have to lose by showing a little humanity?

She realized then that she knew very little of the man that the creature before her was.

* * *

The Jedi woman Bastila hadn't made a move to speak since they had left the swoop track together over an hour ago. In fact, she hadn't made much noise at all. However, he could feel the anxiety simply pouring out of her in waves at him. The tension in the air was really the only thing that served to tell him she was still behind him at all. That, and he could practically feel a hole in his back from how fiercely she had been watching him. 

He must be as trustworthy to her as a raging krate dragon.

She had become so absorbed in watching him that she hadn't even noticed the shadows creeping around behind her. There were a few that had been following them for the past few minutes, and he was just about to call their stalkers out when the shadows in question decided to make their presence known on their own.

Three surviving gang members all yelled in unison as they jumped at the stunned Jedi.

_Some Jedi. _The rogue bitterly laughed to himself as the woman reached her lightsaber too slowly. He threw his short blade into the attacker nearest her to buy the time needed to reach her.

From there he faced the remaining two unarmed, glaring coolly back at the slowly advancing, guffawing predators. They thought they had him simply because he didn't hold a weapon? The poor idiots. They walked towards their own doom and expected a prize.

He pulled the simple stun baton from his side and gave it a twirl. It was about as lethal as a spoon, and he knew this, but it was still a useful tool.

He prodded each of them in the span of a second, stunning them both. They wouldn't remain frozen forever, but it would be long enough for him to grab his sword and let the Jedi dispose of their attackers.

"Let's get out of here." He said, unimpressed, as he pulled his blade from the fallen gang-member's skull.

"I don't think so!" The voice was male. The gang members had become unfrozen already?! Why hadn't the Jedi disposed of them yet? He turned around.

He had to work hard to suppress the groan building within him as he saw Bastila hadn't even drawn her weapon. There was no way this fool of a Jedi was Carth's key to winning the war. It just wasn't possible. . .

He charged the two remaining, unfrozen gang members to save her. Again.

* * *

It was bad enough that she had been caught off guard, and worse when that she had to be saved by Revan, but unthinkably horrible that once saved she managed to let her guard drop _again. _She was now looking at two opponents nearly twice her size without her saber drawn. 

She quickly cleared her mind, remembered her training, and used the Force to push the pair away from her. Once they hit the ground she drew and activated her glaring yellow beam, preparing to make up for her foolish lack of action.

The two goons could do little more than gape at her once they regained their footing.

"A-a Jedi!"

"What do we do, boss?!"

"I suggest you run." She said with no hidden hint of malevolence.

She smirked as the two did just that, but then caught sight of Revan . . . slumped against a wall. He wasn't moving, and she became nervous. Had he been struck by the gang members? Was it possible for someone so deadly to be felled in such a scenario? It was then realization sunk in; she had hit him.

Feeling more than ridiculous for forgetting that he was also in range of her attack she ran to him. He was still breathing, to her relief, but bleeding from a cut on the back of his head. _A concussion?_ She thought for a moment, and decided that she may be able to use the Force to cure his injury, possibly reviving him.

She couldn't leave what was arguably the most dangerous man in the galaxy unsupervised in Taresian sewers, after all.

So she knelt beside the pale skinned creature and gently touched her fingers to his brow. She was somehow baffled to find that his skin was normal to the touch, but then chastised herself – what did she expect? To be burned? Monster though he may be, he was still human . . . sort of. Right?

When his eyes were closed he appeared so. The dark skin around his eyelids could nearly be mistaken for. . . for eye shadow! She nearly giggled at the absurdity of the thought. He looked so harmless without those golden eyes. He was still larger than herself, but significantly smaller than most men she trained with. She couldn't help but think that he was an attractive man . . . when his eyes weren't searing into her. Without that glare the rest of his features appeared far less feral. He was . . . bleeding all over.

Thoughts turning back to the situation at hand she used the Force to mend his physical wounds. His breathing immediately broke its steady rhythm – a sign that he was coming to. She removed her hand from his face, not wanting to be caught so near him when he woke up, but just as she moved to step back his eyes shot open, and were slightly unfocused.

Before she could think she was under attack – the damned Sith lord had her pinned to the ground, and she couldn't have freed herself from that grasp if she _could_ move. His eyes were directly above hers, pupils dilated but shrinking as the monster blinked her into focus. His face wasn't twisted into a snarl, nor was it especially pleasant as he held her against the ground – it was blank, and that was unnerving. Or nearly expressionless - as he finally focused on her his brow crest in confusion.

* * *

He was hit by something – that much he remembered. Even if he hadn't remembered he could assume easily enough – his head had been throbbing. At least it was until something gently caressed him, almost wisping away his wound and pain. Once the touch was gone he found himself feeling quite comfortable – until he heard someone directly before him. 

Instincts took over then.

He didn't know what dared to disturb him while injured, but once his eyes were opened he saw his assaulters were vaguely human shaped – and somehow hovering in circles around him. No . . . he was just dizzy for some reason – he tackled the most tangible of the shapes, connecting with a thud.

He was safe so long as the person attacking him was helpless, so he kept the idiot pinned beneath him – knees hitting pressure points on his victim's legs, hands pinning thin arms firmly and resolutely. Whoever was beneath him didn't put up any fight, so he didn't continue his counter-assault.

He just blinked, forcing his eyes to come back into focus.

And once they did he couldn't do anything to help stop the blush that forced its way across his cheeks – he was straddling Carth's commander, and when put in this new light the position he held her in was far from a malevolent restraint. He immediately removed his hands from the Jedi's arms and muttered an apology as he slid off her legs then offered her a hand up.

She refused his help, and stood on her own, brushing herself off once vertical.

"I'm sorry about that. I couldn't think clearly for some reason – I heard someone near me and assumed an attack . . ." He fumbled over his words, for the first time he could recall. "I would have held my hand if I had known it was you."

"It's fine." She said, refusing to meet his eye. "You were right to fear an attack, I suppose. It was my fault you were injured, after all. I was healing you before you awoke."

"I see." He replied, finally getting his thoughts unscrambled and words back in order. "Let's just call it even then, shall we?"

He smiled at her when she finally looked his way, and proffered his hand to shake in agreement - a small gesture to lighten the mood. She cautiously grasped the tips of his fingers, as if afraid he'd bite her hand off. That wouldn't do – he was sick of this woman fearing him. Aside from a half-conscious wrestling match, he'd done nothing to even hint that he would harm her.

So he grasped her hand firmly and pulled her toward him after a quick shake. She had wanted to lead so badly before hadn't she? In such a case, she had better be able to simply walk beside him. She did just that, still not taking her eyes off him - untrustworthy as ever – but some of that unearthly tension was finally removed.

_Go figure. Attack her and she becomes more personable? Women_.

* * *

He led the way from the lower slums back to the upper city silently. 

"Where are we going anyway?" She asked Revan, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over them for the better part of the past half hour.

"Cantina." He replied simply, as if that one word could answer her question.

"You have been hiding in the Cantina?" She thought, slightly confused. "I would have thought Carth could have come up with a better plan than that. . ."

"So, the two of you are on a first name basis, huh?" He said, odd expressions arising again. "Please, do enlighten me as to whether or not your lovely little soldier-boy has been lying to me. What is your relationship to Carth Onasi?"

"Are. . . are you jealous?!" She couldn't help but let her disbelief and humor surface. Is this why he has been so stand-offish whenever Carth Onasi came into the picture? She barely knew the guy, but this was too funny. . .

"Hardly." He replied sharply. _Meaning yes, of course._ "But I am curious to know why he sent me to risk life and limb for you, Jedi. I would be most . . . displeased if I just risked my own hide to save his little crush."

_Ouch._Fun was over.

"Well then, to save you from your little fit of _displeasure _I'll have you know that I have only met Carth on a few occasions." She stated just as coolly as he usually did. "Feeling better that you didn't risk your life for me without reason?"

He didn't respond, and for the briefest of moments he looked stung._Serves the beast right._

"That isn't what I meant." He began apologizing after a while, continuing on his way to the Cantina. "Well, no. I suppose that is exactly what I meant. And yes . . . I'm glad that my personal injury wasn't for nothing."

Slightly shocked by his words, she looked to him only to find him smiling down at her. A slight curve of the lips, barely detectable over the shrewdness of his eyes, but as genuine as she could have imagined. That hint of a smile was directed only to her. She felt a little embarrassed and cornered by the attention, and had to look away following the strangest sensation in her chest. She was afraid again, and that simply wouldn't do.

"Well, not for nothing. But close enough. . ." He teased. "Your training seems incomplete."

"I may be young, but I am no longer a Padawan. I have more than enough combat experience, and I can do some things that no other Jedi is capable of."

"So I've heard. . . but your actual weapon skills are, well, lacking." He criticized her. He was actually _criticizing_ her. She could barely believe what she was hearing and almost rounded on him before he continued. "I could train you further in the ways of melee, if you like."

She was torn between throwing his offer back in his face and accepting – both courses of action equally appealing. Instead she just responded with a vague "Perhaps."

He nodded. "We will meet up with Carth and the others shortly, but first I need to collect something at the cantina."

Without responding she continued to follow beside him. _Training with Darth Revan_? The thought was so peculiar she had to recall the short conversation again to affirm she had heard correctly. It couldn't hurt, really. It may even be beneficial in the long run, if he went red again. And she had to admit, compared to the man before her she wielded her lightsaber a bit shabbily. His strikes with the worn and dull shortword were more deadly than her own attacks.

But then again, if crossing beam and blade with him again should provoke a feeling of twisted nostalgia within him. . . she suppressed a shudder. The risk wasn't worth the benefits.

She offhandedly wondered what he needed to get in a cantina as they walked through the building's large, lit up entrance. She didn't have to wonder for long, though, as he made his way to a Hutt in what could only be the betting complex for an arena. He must have been a combatant for a while.

"I'm here for my payout from the last fight."

"_Your last fight was days ago!" _The huge slug garbled at him. The former Dark Lord narrowed his eyes and took on a rather frightening expression. "_Very well, then. No need to get upset. Here's your pay. Next time don't be so late, or I'm keeping it._"

"Pleasure doing business." He grinned and turned to leave, but was stopped by the hutt's following words.

"_I do know of one last fighter willing to face you, by the way._"

"Do you now?" He laughed. "Continue. . . I'm listening."

"_There would be many credits involved. . . everyone would come to witness this fight: The Mysterious Stranger versus Bendak Starkiller himself!"_

"I've heard the name mentioned. Why not? I'll take him on."

"_There is one little catch. Starkiller only does death matches._"

"I see." He paused to consider this for a moment. "Is he a strong opponent then? Or just another run of the mill mandalorian who thinks he's tougher than a Bantha's backside?"

The hutt seemed taken aback. "_He's the arena champion. . . but he's refused to fight anyone now that death matches have been made illegal. Of course, with all the credits on the line here I'm more than willing to . . . eh, make them legal for a day, so to speak._"

"Oh, so you're willing to risk death for your own pride, are you? I think I'm offended. Let's just get out of here. . ." Bastila spoke up, not irritated, but impatient.

"We have a wookiee to feed." He said, ignoring her baffled response before continuing. "Among other things, the credits will become very necessary very soon. Besides," he looked back at her with a smirk, "its not like anyone else on this backwater planet has been able to hold a candle to my glorious sun."

_Arrogant creature_. She only nodded, though, realizing he was right. He was the terrible Sith lord Darth Revan, regardless of whether he knew it or not, and his opponent was some arena fighter who was only famous on this small planet. The thought of him losing when the situation was put under this light was comical at best.

"I'll slaughter him." The Dark Lord said with a vicious grin befitting his former nature.

The hutt chuckled his reply, overjoyed by the prospect of making so many credits. "_Excellent! You can take a day to get ready for this match while I get everything set up!_"

"Very well."

The rogue turned and gestured for her to follow him from the complex.

* * *

"You're going to take on Starkiller!?" Mission practically squealed her delight. "I just know you're gonna kick his butt!" 

"Let's hope." Raven replied with a small snort. "Where are Carth and Zaalbar?"

"Out looking for that Rakghoul serum Carth was blabbing on about. They left earlier today . . . should be back soon, unless they ran into trouble."

"Why didn't you go along?" The rogue wondered aloud, actually curious.

"I had some stuff of my own to take care of." She waved his question away. "I overheard something interesting when I was out, though. There's a mandalorian merc on Taris – some big shot. I can't remember his name. But the big thing is that he's working for Davik. Davik has the fastest ship in the galaxy – the Ebon Hawk! I think we could use the merc to get to the Hawk ourselves."

"A possibility." He considered the girls story for a moment. "We will be needing a ship soon, after all. I'll leave you in charge of that." Mission looked startled for a moment, as if unsure he was really entrusting her with something so big, then she nodded enthusiastically. The girl wouldn't let him down.

"Who's that?" The twi'lek asked belatedly noticing Bastila.

"This? This is Bastila, the Jedi Carth had me hunt down and rescue."

"Thanks for the flattering introduction." She said with no small level of sarcasm.

"She's the key to the entire Republic war effort." He parroted Carth, with no small level of humor.

"Oh, her." Mission smiled good-naturedly and held out a hand to Bastila. "Good to meet ya. I'm Mission. Mission Vayao."

"Bastila Shan." The two shook hands.

"I suppose we should just get some rest while we wait for their return." He suggested, feeling rather spent.

"You two can. I'm not exactly tired yet." Mission objected. "I think I'll go hunt down the soldiers."

"Right." He said, removing his armour as he spoke. "Just watch your back, kid."

"Hmph. I've survived without a babysitter this long. I think I can handle it." She said with a wink before leaving.

"Without a babysitter. Right. I wonder what the wookiee was for then? Moral support?" He quietly criticized the girl as he removed the last of his protective layers. Once dressed down he flopped back onto the low bed with a sigh. It wasn't so much that his body ached (and definitely not that the bed was comfortable) but being able to lay back for a while was a good, good feeling.

"I was wondering if perhaps we could talk for a moment." Bastila's voice sounded behind him.

_Of course she would want to talk_. He grimaced, but rolled over to face the opposite bed nonetheless. "Yeah? What about?"

She was still sitting upright across from him. Apparently she didn't realize how hard it would be to get some sleep once everyone returned, tired and sore, with only two beds in the apartment. She wouldn't look him in the eye again, for whatever reason, and only stared down at her hands which lay crossed atop her lap. Her hair had managed to loosen itself from the braids that held it back, and a few deviant strands fell over her face, making her look even younger and more fragile than she was.

He himself wasn't that old, but she must be at least five years younger._ And somehow she's become expected to lead the Republic to victory? _He finally realized where her uptight, structured nature came from. It was far more than just the council influencing her. The woman was playing the role she thought she was meant to play – not being true to her own desires at all. _And what else could she do after being led to believe that role was so important?_

Interest in the woman piqued, he lifted himself from the now warm mattress with a short grunt. He would have preferred sleep, but his little Jedi damsel wouldn't be ignored. He had gathered that much from his short time spent with her.

"All right. I'm up, I'm up." He rubbed his face, fingers making small circles around his temples. "What did you want to talk about?"

She thought as hard as she could, but no easy way of bringing up this topic was coming to her. It wasn't one of those things that could just be blurted out, either. She saw the physical signs of taint, and she witnessed his cruel actions. She needed to know how much time she could possibly have left to get him to the council before Revan's memories came pouring back into this man's mind with a vengeance.

But she nearly laughed to herself as she realized that simply talking about those memories would trigger suspicion in this sharp predator, if not trigger their very return. He was just too damned smart. She sighed in her frustration.

"You know, I'm not going to rip out your throat for voicing your thoughts." He broke the awkward silence she had created, and she looked up at him to find he had actually changed his position to pay attention to her.

He still half lay on the bed, but had propped himself up onto his elbows and twisted himself to face her. He was practically lounging back waiting for her to speak. He wore simple clothing, nothing more than faded black sweats and a fitted grey undershirt. So casual. . . even with his eyes open, there was no debate as to whether or not the man before her was in fact human. Take away armour, take away blades, and add a hint of fatigue and you had a very normal, very mortal, former dark lord.

She knew why she had felt so uncomfortable around him before – nobody wants to treat a cannok as they would a person. She had thought of him only as Darth Revan, whom she had thought of only as a wild beast, and felt more than a bit guilty for treating this man as she would the monster he used to be. _No. I even treated Revan . ._ . no, him, _with more respect than this when I saved his life._

She recalled her final confrontation with the man from when he still hid behind that mask. He hadn't spoken at all – simply stood against what he must have known was his doom, defiant and strong. He truly wasn't much different now, in his ambition. Then the strangest thought hit her, and everything fell into place.

_Is this how he was, even as the Dark Lord? _

She looked towards the waiting man again, this time not casting her eyes away. Even Sith Lords must have trusted acquaintances, right? Then perhaps he had already returned to his former self. . . minus the memories and megalomaniacal tendencies – and he wasn't going to get any worse. The thought comforted her infinitely; he wasn't a time bomb. She didn't have to hurry him to the council. This was just how he was.

_Yes, and if he was a Jedi 'as he is' he would still be taking over galaxies._ The thought, while disturbing, was true enough. But the cruel man before her was not a Jedi. Just a bitter, harmless rogue.

"I'm sorry." It was a whisper, but the man must have caught it as he just shrugged. "I haven't treated you with the proper respect."

Shocking her, he just laughed at the remainder of her apology – a short, real chuckle of amusement, accompanied by a flash of teeth in a smile. "You haven't been the first, and you won't be the last. It's simply not possible to have _everyone_ in the galaxy bow down before my Majesty."

"How does anyone manage to tolerate you?" She joked back, returning his grin with a smirk of her own.

"No idea. Why don't you tell me just how it's done?"

"With a lot of patience."

He chuckled again, then fell back against the bed. She continued to watch him, even though she thought the conversation was over. She wasn't supposed to have any emotional attachments, but somehow the thought of the man laying back before her in all of his crude 'majesty' tugged at her heart. What with the council say if they knew she, within the span of a five minute conversation, was actually starting to befriend the former Dark Lord, Darth Revan?

_They'd probably shoot me_.

But she found that she honestly didn't care too much about what the council would think. Having friends couldn't possibly lead her to the Dark Side. She was certain, and with what they would be forced to do in the time to come she couldn't imagine living with this man's loyal crew under professional terms. _It would be far too much like the enclave_.

In fact, this 'Raven' was the first person to ever treat her casually. Then again, she couldn't imagine him walking on eggshells around anyone. She smiled just before she took her eyes away to begin meditation, but was interrupted only seconds later by the rogue.

"What do you plan on doing once we get off this planet?" He asked, his voice slightly coarse now.

"I'm. . . not sure." She answered truthfully. "I suppose, in one way or another, I will continue my fight against Darth Malak."

"Have you ever met him?"

The question came out of nowhere, and caught her entirely off guard. She hadn't encountered him as the Dark Lord, no. "I've seen him, but long before he was the Dark Lord."

"Yeah? What was he like?"

"Why are you asking these questions?"

He sat back up, then, sliding from the bed to sit facing her. He regarded her for a moment, then allowed that unfamiliar smile to creep its way back to his lips. With a short laugh indicating futility, he spoke.

"I have a feeling I'm not running free after we get off this planet. I'm practically married to a Captain and his Jedi WMD, and I have a wookiee attached to my hip with a kid twi'lek attached to his furry backside, and all of them have the almighty need to see this Malak guy dead." He shook his head with another small laugh. "I'm so trapped in this whole scenario I doubt I could get myself out of saving the Republic if I tried. I'm just curious about your enemy. After all. . ." He his smile faded and he took on a very serious air. "when I follow you, he'll be my enemy too."

"You. . .you'll be joining me willingly?" She was more than a bit baffled. The council had her place him on her ship to keep an eye on him, but she never imagined the former Dark Lord fighting alongside her against his own apprentice.

"Well, my word is questionable at best, but I think so." He shrugged. "I don't exactly have much to leave behind by joining you and your merry man, anyway."

"Nothing to leave behind?" She asked the question before the even began to consider its consequences, and mentally berated herself. She shouldn't make him think too much on his altered memories of the past, or he would undoubtedly realize something was awry.

"Nothing." He smiled in what should have been a sad way but wasn't. "It's no big deal. The less attachments you have the better off you are. It's kind of the way I grew up. . . and I didn't turn out so bad, now did I?"

_You have no idea. . . _"I guess not." She gave him what he wanted to hear. "You know where your loyalties lie, at any rate."

He snorted. "Don't mistake my assistance for loyalty. Attachments are dangerous, but loyalty. . . loyalty kills a man. In more ways than one." He gave her a meaningful look.

"Well, it must be a weakness of males then, because _my_ loyalty to the council hasn't harmed me in any way." _How dare he imply I am wrong to follow the council!_

Once again confusing her, he just shook his head.

"What was that for?!"

"Nothing. You'll come to realize I'm right eventually." And with that cryptic prediction, he lay back down and rolled his back to her – 'conversation over'.

"Hmph." She stubbornly turned her back to him before continuing her interrupted meditation.

* * *

The rogue awoke the next morning to find that Mission had returned, and was currently asleep on the second bed where Bastila had been. Upon rising, he found the Wookiee and the hairless variant on the floor, snoring quietly. 

He retrieved his light armor, stepped around the two slumbering soldiers, and began to suit up. Greaves, chest plate, gauntlets and weapons secured to his person, he strode to the door.

"Hey!" A sleepy voice called to him. "Don't think you're going without me! Hold on, I'll be just a second."

The blue twi'lek practically jumped into her clothes, strapped on her holsters, and habitually armed herself as she jogged to him, easily jumping over the others on the way. She smiled brightly at him.

"All right! I'm ready. Let's go kick Starkiller's butt!"

He shook his head at the girl's enthusiasm, but allowed her to lead the way to the cantina nonetheless. While walking, he briefly wondered where Bastila had gone to. He didn't have to think about it for more than a minute, though, as the woman greeted them both at the cantina's entrance.

"Are you certain you're ready for this?"

"Of course." He smiled his reply.

"Woah. . ." Mission said, slightly slack-jawed. "I guess it _is_ possible for you to smile. I just sort of figured you were the Big Z type of guy – you know. Not the type to show much emotion."

"What are you talking about?" Bastila interrupted. "He smiles just as often as the rest of us."

"What Raven have you been dealing with?" She shook her head, then sighed, then giggled. "I guess it just takes a pretty woman to get him to show those fangs of his!"

"Which is precisely why you've never seen them." He smirked at the girl jokingly, and from the corner of his eye noticed Bastila blushing.

"I suppose there is a flaw to my theory then." She said, hands on her hips. "Well, whatever. You've got a mandalorian to beat."

"No, I've got a mandalorian to slaughter." He corrected. "Literally. It's a death match, kid."

"Wha-what?! You can't be serious!"

"Serious as a mandalorian's resentment towards Echani." He walked past her to the hutt. "I'm ready for my next match."

"_Excellent! Remember – this is a death match. The inhibitors are off. You can be mortally wounded. Also – anything goes. Fight as dirty as you want – give the crowd a show! This fight will make the winner very rich."_

"I'm sure." He turned to Bastila and Mission, and upon seeing the worried looks each was giving him, he rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and smiled confidently at them both, flashing as much 'fang' as possible without looking like a fool. This got a laugh out of the kid and a small head-shake from the Jedi. "Well, here goes then. I'll see you in a few minutes."

And with a wink he was off to the ring.

* * *

The Jedi watched as he turned and walked into the pits. His manner was the same, but even his little show of strength wasn't enough to get rid of the lump in her chest. In a mantra she kept repeating to herself that everything would be fine, and that she was being ridiculous – Darth Revan could _not_ be beaten by some small-time mandalorian entertainer. 

She took her seat beside mission in the large crowd (tickets were outrageously expensive, but the girl had managed to pull a few strings and get them in free), and watched the ring below on the edge of her seat.

"Citizens! We have an extra special treat for you tonight! Coming out into the ring for the first time in years, the deadly Bendak Starkiller!" The mandalorian strode proudly into position, drawing a huge roar of applause from the audience. "And who would be crazy enough to take on this living legend, to fight with Starkiller himself in a duel to the death?! Here he is, ladies and gentlemen: The Mysterious Straaaanger!"

The applause for him was near deafening. He met the uproar with a cocky raised chin, holding himself in a stance that screamed superiority. He pulled his simple short sword from its sheath at his side, and gave it a twirl. Bendak responded by unholstering his pistols.

"Two combatants enter the ring, and only one comes out alive! Let the death match begin!"

The two wasted no time – Bendak immediately shot the charging rogue, hitting his armour and leaving him relatively undamaged, although that did nothing to help the ever twisting knot in Bastila's stomach. She watched on as Revan finally reached Starkiller, already injured. He still fought viciously, in spite of the reddened spots bleeding through the more organic portions of his armour.

To her relief, she saw him land a few good hits on the mandalorian before jumping back. Now the infamous champion had his vibroblade drawn, and for a moment the two merely stood, poised to leap at the drop of a hat. They couldn't have been frozen there for more than a minute, but to the Jedi it seemed an eternity. She took her eyes off of the fight for merely a second to look at Mission, who returned her nervous glance with a very similar expression.

It was Revan who made the next move.

* * *

The rogue feinted to the right of his opponent, trying to throw him off his guard for even a second before he lunged forward in a very bold assault. Normally he would have let the mandolorian be the brash idiot, but he didn't like giving the guy time to assess his wounds. 

Running straight through the famed combatant's shots was the only way he could get to him, and while he wasn't wounded enough to slow him down, his blood was the first drawn. The fight would need to be fast, or the blood loss would prevent him from living long enough to savor his victory.

His attack, as predicted, was easily brushed aside by the man's longer vibroblade, but it got him close, and that was all he needed. He readied his stun baton, and just before he planted it into Starkiller's helm he felt his left side explode in pain. Unable to hold the baton steady enough to complete his tricky maneuver, he rolled away from his opponent.

He only looked down for a second – he knew that thinking on one's wounds was a very big mistake, but the damage needed to be accounted for, nonetheless. What he saw shocked him. His armour had been torn away, revealing his charred, bleeding flesh. _What had the kath hound done to him?!_

"Anything goes, eh Echani scum?!"The mandalorian laughed at him as he tossed a grenade his way.

It took all the strength he had to jump out of its deadly blast radius, but even so he was pegged with a little shrapnel from the frag. He bit back a cry, and hardened himself. _No wonder the bastard won all of his matches – he fights dirtier than me!_

"Anything goes, is it?" He jeered back at the 'champion' in spite of his pain. "You have no idea what you just got yourself in to!"

He activated his stealth generator and immediately threw a grenade of his own before him to create a smokescreen. He'd been injured far worse in the past - this fight was anything but over.

* * *

"Hmph. Trust an Echani to pull such an underhanded move." A tall mandalorian in his prime spoke gruffly. 

Mission rounded on her neighboring spectator, shouting "Starkiller isn't exactly fighting clean either, bantha-brains!"

"Grenades?" The battle-scarred man snorted. "Maybe if the damned Echani could bring themselves to wear some actual armour explosives wouldn't be such a problem. Starkiller is taking advantage of his opponent's weakness."

"So is Raven." She smirked at the Mandalorian. "Your kind never could quite wrap your 'brains' around the concept of strategy."

The mandalorian growled menacingly. "Hiding isn't much of a strategy. The Echani's just weak."

"He's stronger than you give him credit for, Ordo." Bastila spoke, nailing the silver-haired man to the spot with a sharp glare. "I trust you'll keep your comments to yourself from this point on."

"Ordo?" A confused Mission asked, only to be shushed by her older companion as she continued to watch intently.

* * *

Through the smokescreen he got enough time to inject himself with a medipac – shrapnel in the chest was not something one fought through easily. He crept his way behind the wildly slashing mandalorian, preparing to strike him from behind, just as the underhanded cannok did to him. 

He jumped up and his stealth field fell, giving the man just enough time to block his fatal blow. The brute strength of the mandalorian won over the precision of his strike, and for a moment they struggled against each others blades.

That wouldn't las long, though, as Starkiller pulled a glowing red sphere from his side and stuck it onto the rogue's short blade. _A plasma grenade. . . _

Infuriated by the downward turn of events, the rogue was forced to throw his blade away (or inevitably lose his arms). He jumped a good ten feet back, using his agility to his advantage. Not one to cow tow to such a low move, he chucked the blade at his opponent, hitting him square in the shoulder.

The man cried out, but could do nothing as the explosion tore away his left arm, instantly cauterizing the stump.

"Well now. . ." The Mandalorian spectator whistled. "That was unexpected."

"Yeah! Go Raven! Tear that cheating core-slime apart!" Mission jumped up from her seat, cheering, as much of the crowd was.

"This fight ain't over yet, kid. Sit down."

"Psh. The guy's lost an arm! He's done for."

The silver-haired man just smiled at the girl before continuing with pride. "You've never seen the determination of a Mandalorian in battle."

"Maybe so, but you've never seen the sheer skill of my friend, either, now have you?"

The man Bastila identified as 'Ordo' just snorted in reply. "He's lasted longer than most – I'll give him that. But now he has no weapon, and I've never known an Echani to punch through a Mandalorian's armour unarmed."

"Yeah? Well I don't think your idol is gonna much damage down there now that he's been _unarmed,_ either." Mission snickered at her own dark humor, while the man shook his silvered head, unamused.

* * *

Starkiller's heavy armour had saved his life, but he stumbled for a moment, dazed from the explosion. The rogue held his attacks and gave the man a fair chance to recover. Well, actually he would have gladly ended the match then and there if not for the fact he held nothing more than his little electric spoon. He used the man's stupor for time to think of just how he was going to defend himself against a raging Mandalorian. 

When his eyes trailed to the ground and landed upon the tattered, burn remnants of Starkiller's arm, he saw that he still had a chance._Nothing more cliched than beating a man to death with his own arm. . . _The fingers still held another grenade firmly in their dead grasp.

As the madalorian charged he rolled to the side, and made a mad dash for the metal sphere.

The crippled fighter wasn't through yet, though. As the rogue reached the frag, a red hot pain scorched across his back, over his shoulder blades, and across the top of his frame itself. His left arm instantly slackened, muscles unable to control the limb under the pain of being cut.

He stumbled forward to his knees, and upon contact with the ground his ruined chest plate fell from his shoulders, leaving his bare chest and back entirely unprotected. Biting his lip against the horrible pain, he forced himself to rise and fight back, but before he could even lift his second knee his vision was riddled with white blurs as the most intense pain he ever felt enraptured him.

Against his will, his eyes dropped to his chest, to see the end of a vibroblade piercing through his already bloodied skin.

* * *

"Coward!" To Mission's surprise in that heavily emotional moment, the Mandalorian who had been so set against Raven winning bellowed out above the crowd. "No Mandalorian strikes his opponent from behind in an honorable duel!" 

"C'mon, c'mon Raven. . . get up, get up!" She pleaded, seeing the blade through his chest, knowing it wasn't an injury people just walked away from death with, especially not when. . .

"No. . ." It was Bastila's voice that managed to surface as the enraged Starkiller began beating the already dying rogue into the ground. "NO!"

* * *

Through the pain he felt something reaching out to him. He was already nearing death . . . his wound had the smallest possibility of being healed, were he in any other situation, but in a death match. . . in a death match he was doomed. He wondered for a moment if what he felt was the Force beckoning him. . . 

A vision hit him then, as he felt another presence in his mind, calling desperately for him to hold on.

He saw Bastila . . . not much different than she was as he had just seen the woman. She was facing off against a figure cloaked in black. . . wearing a mask. The cloaked sentient activated his red lightsaber, daring the woman to even try to attack him. It would have been frightening, if not for the fact the Dark Jedi was outnumbered three to one.

"Give up, Revan. You cannot win." Bastila spoke, trying to will the figure to seek redemption. He tried to talk to her then, wanting to ask her what was going on, but found that he couldn't.

All he could feel was that death was coming for him . . . but he would not give in. He would not die without taking his killer with him. As the figure flourished its lightsaber, he felt his very mind filled with the young Jedi's voice . . .

"Revan!"

Something broke loose within him then. A fountain sprang forth from within his very mind, strengthening him, guiding him. And then as the figure in his vision charged the three Jedi, he himself turned with this new strength. With everything he had left in him he wrenched open his eyes and turned on his enemy so fiercely he pulled the weapon impaling him from the corpse-to-be's hand.

He snarled, a sound so feral and inhuman even to his ears, and then his will to kill his would-be killer manifested itself in the physical, shooting from the tips of his fingers. The spring within his mind flowed down his arm, pressing an electric jolt of pure hatred and power into that man who was cowardly enough to run him through from behind while he was down on his knees.

He let that beautiful strength flow through him until he _felt_ his assaulter die, then let out a silent breath as he fell himself.

Everything went dark.

* * *

"What the-?!" Mission's reaction mirrored that of the Mandalorian beside her. 

"He's a Jedi?!" The man growled his disbelief.

"Mission! We have to get him out of here, NOW!" Bastila wasted no time in jumping over the ledge of the arena to her fallen comrade. She could feel his life fading so fast. . .

Before she even hit the ground she was using the force to mend his mortal wounds to the best of her ability. When she reached him she couldn't even stifle her gasp. There was so much blood. . . She pulled the sword from his chest, relieved to see that it had only punctured his lunge, missing his still beating heart entirely. Before the blood from the now open wound could spurt through the fissure she had her hands covering it, healing it.

She exhausted herself, pouring everything she had into the man's wounds. Looking down at his bare chest she saw for the first time that he was far more mortal than she had given him credit for. His flesh was laced with scars, white on the pale skin over his muscular, battle-hardened frame. His chest weakly rose and fell, and the fact that he was still able to breathe on his own encouraged her - she felt her energy draining from her hands to him, and she held nothing back. She couldn't keep this up for much longer, though, and stay alive.

_But I can't let him die, either_.

Then, from nowhere she saw a large hand press three needles into the downed man, simultaneously pressing their contents into his blood.

"Stimulants, for his strength and constitution, as well as adrenaline." It was the Mandolorian from clan Ordo that Mission had sat next to. She could only nod her thanks.

She heard mission next, but the voice seemed far away.

"We need to leave, now! The crowd is furious!" The girl sounded panicked.

"That's enough, Jedi." She felt a hand on her own, pulling her away from Revan. "If you try to do anything more you won't be able to carry yourself out of this place."

"He'll die if I don't. . ." She could never have given a logical explanation as to why the former Dark Lord's life was so important to her, if asked, and somehow she realized how crazy the whole situation was, but it just didn't matter to her at the moment.

"You've done enough – he's not doomed anymore." The voice was warm, and while commanding, it was also filled with understanding. "But your twi'lek friend is right. We need to get out of here pronto."

Bastila stood, feeling dazed with brief vertigo but able to move. After blinking her eyes a few times, her vision was once again focused and she watched as the mandalorian easily lifted Revan from the floor, and cradled him almost in the same manner as a father would hold his injured child. Something in the back of her mind asked herself who the man even was, but she didn't have the energy to care. She was just thankful. Then she followed both him and Mission as they bolted from the arena, shoving through a large crowd of angry gamblers.

Through the chaos of it all, she felt a voice within her head. Under normal circumstances, she would have been frightened as the former Dark Lord's feelings glided through her mind, but in this hazardous state she could muster very little energy towards thinking about it. She only took the strange invasion as a sign that he was still alive, and in that she was glad.

Once free of the arena she and the silver haired man followed Mission as the teenager expertly maneuvered the group away from anyones notice, then to the apartment.

* * *

Revan was laid on one of the apartment's beds, and she took the other as a seat for herself. Mission sat at the side of the unconscious man's bed, and the mandalorian hovered over them all, a stern look etched in his features. 

"What the hell happened back there?" Mission was the first to speak, her words uncharacteristically crude.

"That's something I would like to know as well. Jedi don't fight in the arena." the mandalorian agreed.

Bastila shook her head slowly before she spoke, trying to think the situation through herself. "He's not a Jedi, but. . . the force flows strongly within him."

"So what does that mean in layman's terms?"

"It means we need to get to the Council on Dantooine as soon as possible."

"I don't know if you've failed to notice, Jedi, but the whole planet is on Sith lockdown. Nothing leaves without the proper clearance codes. I've been trying to get a hold of them myself for a while now and I've got nothin' to show for it."

"Codes aren't even the most of our worries. We don't even have a ship." The voice came from across the room and the three turned to see that Carth and Zaalbar had returned.

"My_ boss_ has a ship. Supposed to be the fastest in the Galaxy." The mandalorian spoke again.

"Oh! You must be that merc that I . . .heard . . . about." Mission faltered, embarrassed, and smiled innocently at the man before continuing. "So, uh, you don't like your boss?"

"He pays me to beat up pitiful thugs who don't make their payments on time. Hardly a challenge for a my skills." He paused for a moment, as if thinking. "The name's Canderous, of the Mandalorian clan Ordo."

"Mission Vayao. The wookiee is Zaalbar, the man with him is Captain Carth Onasi, and this is Bastila Shan." Mission smiled brightly as she introduced everyone.

"And the Echani?"

"Oh! Right. He goes by 'Raven'. 'M not sure what his real name is." Her expression darkened notably as she remembered his presence. _Kids attention spans. _. . Bastila mused, unable to concentrate on anything but the injuries Revan had sustained.

"Right." Canderous continued. "I think we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement."

"Yeah?" Carth stepped forward. "How so?"

"Davik would do anything to have a Jedi in his employ-"

"We're _not_ selling him to the exchange!" Bastila and Mission both snapped, near simultaneously.

"Relax. I don't mean that at all. Davik will, however, want to hire him. This will get you closer to the ship." He paused. "The Echani and I will be able to take the ship. However, that will mean nothing if we don't have the launch codes."

"How can we trust you to work with him after your little show at the ring?" Mission asked protectively.

"The ring?" Carth asked for him and Zaalbar. "What exactly happened when we were gone?"

"Look for yourself." Canderous stepped aside, clearing the pairs view to the bruised and beaten rogue.

"What the-?!"

"Right. So as I was saying, The Echani and I can take the ship – I swear on my honor that I will not crush him to a pulp if he behaves – but in the mean time the rest of you lot need to get those launch codes."

"How do you propose we do that?" Bastila asked softly.

"Breaking into the Sith Embassy and taking them by force was Davik's plan. Had a droid built for the job and everything. Procure the droid, snatch the codes, and run like you're being chased by the Dark Lord's fleet itself." He shrugged. "Time it right and we'll pick you up and be off this rock."

A short silence ensued as the group digested the man's words.

"We have few options. As soon as we get. . . Raven. . . up on his feet, we will run the plan by him. I won't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do." Canderous tried to protest, but she continued over him. "If he's not fit to go, I will go in his place. I am, after all, a true Jedi."

Satisfied, the mandalorian nodded and turned to leave. "I'll be around the lower city. Contact me when everything is ready."

"All right."Bastila agreed, and with that the mercenary left.

"Well, now what?" Carth asked, sounding only slightly annoyed for having missed so much.

"Now I heal him." Bastila spoke wearily. "But first I need rest, just as much as he does. I hope it's not too much to ask. . ."

"It's fine. We'll take the kid and get out of your hair."

"What?! I'm not leaving!"

"_It's for his good, Mission._" Zaalbar softly churled. "_We can make ourselves more useful by getting that droid the mandalorian mentioned_."

She nodded, and began following them out the door, but turned for a second before leaving. "Take good care of him, Bastila."

* * *

Bastila was unable to sleep, so she tried to meditate. She found it to be nearly as impossible as sleeping though, with Revan inside her head. There weren't words, and now there were no feelings, but his presence still remained. She didn't know what it was lingering for, or why she couldn't block it out. 

Frustrated and tired, she went to the man's bedside for what must have been the hundredth time since everyone left. Whenever she regained enough energy from the Force she used it to further mend his wounds, and he was finally starting to show signs of improvement after a few straight hours of this healing game.

He was still unconscious, though. She sighed softly, not even having the strength to voice her own fatigue to herself.

There was still so much work that needed to be done for him, though. She lifted his shoulder up just enough to slide her hand to the gaping slash wound across his back. It could have been done from a distance, but having direct contact was far more effective – and she didn't exactly have the energy needed to direct the Force to spare.

While the slash would scar rather nastily, it wasn't fatal. It had been more or less ignored for the burns on his side, shrapnel, and puncture wound. Now that the worst of his wounds – the punctured lung, had been mended to the point it was no longer fatal, she could work less urgently and do more than just closing up his flesh wounds.

She ran her hand gently over the long, barely mended cut, starting at the top of his shoulder, and eventually managing to reach his lower back. It was an awkward position, to be sure – in order to not disturb him she hadn't rolled him over, and inevitably, to reach the start of the wound the proximity between her and him was impossible for her to not notice.

_He's unconscious! But on top of that, you are doing exactly what you should be doing . . . helping him to recover. You don't need to be ashamed like a 13-year old girl – you're both adults! And he's still not out of the water yet. . ._

Her mental berating did little to stop her from feeling ashamed, though. Nor did the awkwardness of the situation lessen when she removed her hand from behind him and straightened herself away from the man. She knew she must have been blushing furiously, embarrassed by herself.

But it was hard to help. He had a strange sort of beauty to him, laying atop that tangle of blankets. His face was calm, and his gentle breathing gave the appearance that he was merely sleeping, not recovering from what could have been mortal wounds. He was built just as elegantly as his Echani blood should allow: enough muscle to put power behind his blows, but more important to his culture, he was lithe enough to evade blows directed at him. He held the appearance of a dancer, an acrobat. Not a warrior.

The only distinction was the scars.

She brushed her fingertips over the newly acquired blemish on his chest, but her eyes shifted to all of them – which consisted mostly of small nicks. She couldn't help but wonder who had managed to give him those marks.

Her eyes then fell once again to his face, and the long scar over his right eye. It was undoubtedly left by a lightaber – how he didn't lose his eye was a mystery. The more she thought on the man and his past, the more her stomach tightened. _How could someone so. . . so_unlikely_. . . unleash so much destruction_.

She remembered the first time she saw his face. It had always been hidden behind an unnervingly emotionless black and red mask, even when he was struck down by his apprentice and after when she had saved him from death. It was strange, but somehow she was certain he couldn't look human anymore. Not with how twisted he had become. But he had been unconscious as they peeled the mask away on that slab - much like he was now- and the shock of the fact he was so young and, well, not unattractive, hadn't diminished. He was somehow made human without that heavy metal barricade between his face and the rest of the world. And yet it did nothing to make him less terrifying.

She wondered helplessly as she just observed his sleeping features, just what she was supposed to do about him. He. . . he had undeniably grasped some memory from the depths of his dark past; he had charred the Mandalorian fighter beyond recognition with one of the darkest manifestations the Force could be manipulated into.

It was then he began to stir.

She was still beside him, hand on his chest when he awoke, and simply didn't have enough energy to worry as to whether or not she should pull it away. Whether or not he would rip it from her on the spot. He blinked a few times, slowly, before a low moan escaped him and he attempted to raise himself.

"You should probably stay laying down." She said softly, trying to seem as unthreatening as possible.

He ignored her advice, and half lifted his torso from the bed. Almost immediately he clutched for his chest-wound, catching her hand beneath his.

His face went from pain to surprise and confusion as he looked down, then lightly pulled her hand away, holding it from him with his own while he examined what should have been a hole in him. He rotated his left shoulder as well, testing the muscles to find that they were more or less healed.

"You were beat up pretty badly" She began slowly, slightly worried by his sluggish responses, but still relieved he wasn't trying to kill her. "But you're ok now. Just a little more time and healing and you'll be as good as new."

"How long have I been out for?" His voice was rough with lack of use, and his expression was one of pure exhaustion that must of mirrored her own.

"I. . . I'm not sure." She replied honestly. How long had she been keeping this up for, anyway?

He looked up at her then, and for the first time she wasn't afraid of those golden irises. They weren't as sharp as normal. . . they were somehow gentle. His emotions flowed through her mind more strongly then – a little guilt, but mostly gratefulness. Regardless of the obvious pain it put him through, he pulled himself up the rest of the way so he was more or less sitting, and reached his arms behind her.

Before she could protest, he pulled her into a tight embrace. For a second she was terrified – but the presence he had forged into her mind was calm and still, without the slightest hint of malevolence. She had feared the beast had come back, but he was still exhausted, still a man able to admit he was grateful for her assistance. Those arms that had once sought to kill her were now more gentle than she never dared imagine. In spite of the surreal situation, she was slightly touched by how open he was being.

"Thank you." His voice was sincere. The words resonated in his chest, and she could feel them just as much as she heard them. She found that she couldn't respond, though.

A slight tremor ran through him – his muscles were straining as his body still desperately needed rest. He lost his strength then, and didn't try to fight against gravity as he fell back against the bed. He had released his grasp, but too slowly and she was pulled back with him.

Embarrassed, she tried to erect herself as soon as possible, but he held her to him with a short almost-laugh. He boldly ran his uninjured arm around her shoulders in a half embrace – a weak continuation of what he had unintentionally ended early. If not for the fact she could feel his base thoughts and intentions in her head (and they were perfectly innocent) she would have slapped him. She stopped struggling against him.

"Remember earlier?" He continued speaking to her, eyes closed and voice still husky. "When I told you that I might join you in your fight against Malak?"

She nodded - a gesture she assumed he would recognize against his bare chest.

"I'm not about to swear a wookiee life debt. . . but I owe you one, Jedi." As if in emphasis of the point, he pulled her a little closer. "I'll fight beside you for as long as I am able, or until you no longer need me."

"I thought you said your word meant nothing?" She snorted her lack of faith in the statement, despite her growing discomfort of being so close to him - he who could kill so brutally on a whim. In spite of how she knew it wasn't right to allow herself to be caught in her current position, though, she made no move to protest. She told herself it was due to exhaustion-brought apathy, though part of her knew she was genuinely curious about his promise.

"It usually doesn't. But for you I suppose I'll have to make an exception. . . I've never owed my life to anyone before."

The admition sort of hit her in the teeth. She knew she should have told him he owed her nothing, as it was true that 'Raven' didn't, but Revan – Revan owed _everyone_ something. She decided on keeping him in her debt. "You . . . you're welcome."

He groggily chuckled, and his abs tightening beneath her. "There's something. . . else I wanted . . .to talk to you 'bout. From the arena. But in the morning. . . or whenever I happen to wake up. 'M too tired right now."

"Yes. There's much about what happened that we need to discuss, but rest is best for _both_ of us right now."

Having said that, she moved to get up gently without disturbing him further. She was slightly surprised when he didn't release his hold on her, and of anything pulled against her resistance. Now anything but tired, and somewhat panicked, she tried to move away again.

"You still don't trust me?" His voice, while sleepy, almost sounded hurt.

"I don't see what any of this has to do with trust. . ."

"I suppose nothing." He admit, a little mischief in his voice. "But still. I'd rather you didn't leave."

She was deeply offended by what he was implying. . . . if he only_knew_ who he actually was! If he knew of their rival status – that he had tried to kill her along with any other Force user who happened to cross his path. . . how many Jedi he had slaughtered. Then maybe he'd realize how astoundingly awkward and just. . . just _wrong_ his request was! She was loathe to admit that he didn't know though.

Still too exhausted to string words together, she simply cursed him within her thoughts. Once again she was presented with both hatred and relief. While the situation would be so awkward on her part (he would never be anything but Revan to her) she was relieved that the mirage Raven still existed, and lay back against his mended chest. This illusion was falling apart too quickly, though. Especially now that he had recalled his connection in that one primal moment in which he was determined to survive. . .

His heart beating steadily beneath her ear only seemed to emphasize his defiance – the fact he had once again cheated death. And it had once again been her who saved him.

No matter how much was taken away from his past memories, his sheer willpower wasn't changed at all. He was still as lethal and determined as he was back when she had cornered him on his ship with two companions backing her up. It was funny, though, that she could have let him die twice, and yet here he lay. Beneath her no less. It was as though the Force had an odd sense of humor, bringing her back to face him so many times.

_He's still so fierce. . . but he has no idea at all. . . _

Dark Lord or not, she was reminded by a warm caress from that unnerving _presence _that shared a strange mental bond with the man now. He had his flaws, yes, but she couldn't help thinking back on how he had _definitely_ reverted to his former powers, yet wasn't in a state of insanity now. He didn't forget what had happened – his promise of a conversation in the morning told her as much – somehow proving that he was still civil by choice.

There must be more to Revan than she ever would have previously believed, and she finally felt that the council may not have been entirely wrong when they saw something within him that was worth redemption. Her thoughts then dissipated without warning as her mental exhaustion finally got the best of her. She was too tired to care what the council would think, or even what she herself thought anymore.

She let herself fall asleep in the warm embrace of the dark Echani, for once not thinking about their less than perfect history.

It was surprisingly comfortable.

* * *

**Authoress' Note:**

Well, it was mentioned that my first chapters were a bit on the short side. Situation remedied! O.o; eh-heh.

You know a chapter is long when it starts off with Bastila mistrusting Revan to the point of paranoia and ends with her falling asleep in his arms. And do forgive me for that, but I decided that I wanted a little fluff. I have a lot of nasty violence planned out for those of you who didn't approve of this chapter's ending though, so don't worry!

I'll try to keep further installations to a more reasonable length, though. ;P

aaand upon re-reading I cringed. I have edited this chapter. Too fast and too awkward. Fixt? o.o


	5. Monochromatic Stains

**Rating**: PG-13 (Swearing, bloodshed, general angst – the typical)

**Pre-fiction Ramblings**: Alrighty. Fluff-craving voices in my head temporarily satisfied, expect the actual story to press forward.

**Also**: My sincerest apologies to those who have been waiting for me to update. Reading your reviews encouraged me to continue with this project though, so thank you all very much. )

Also also . . . I edited chapter IV. It has an entirely different feel now, so er, yeah. Throwing that out there ;P

Without further ado:

Chapter V

Monochromatic Stains

_Bastila was back in an academy. _

_That much she knew. Where the academy was, though, she didn't know. The masters were unfamiliar, as were the grounds themselves. But in her dream she_ knew_ the place. Knew it's main pathways well enough, but the secrets and forbidden areas far better. She was on a main path used by padawans now._

_She walked with an air of superiority, and everyone in her path treated her with such respect they almost seemed to fear her. Groups of friends chatting in between lessons separated to give her a path clear through them. Some gave her distasteful looks, but were obviously unwilling to risk doing anything else._

_She found that oddly enough she didn't care._

_Continuing her straight-line path, she headed for the exit to the complex, knowing she would find her best friend there. As she rounded a corner and opened a security door (which she probably shouldn't have been allowed through. She didn't know for sure because_ all _of the doors would open for her; she simply forgot which ones were _supposed_ to.) just to find exactly whom she had been looking for._

_He was such a tall man – she barely came to his shoulder. His head was clean-shaven and lightly tattooed with geometric patterns that matched nicely with his rust-red robes. He was quite well muscled (obviously a Guardian in training) and not in the least unattractive. He had very sharp features, but the angular face somehow worked for him. His jawline was strong as well, perfectly set so as to jut out only slightly, giving him an even fiercer appearance. His eyes were deep chocolate brown, nearly black in their darkness, but when they finally met hers they held nothing but a look of loyalty._

"_Malak." She greeted, feeling her lips tug into a compulsory smile. The voice was definitely not her own._

"_Revan!" He smiled down at her as he made two powerful strides, closing the distance between them. Much to her distress she was pulled into a tight one-armed hug and immediately tried to break free. Malak's strength was far superior to her own, and the struggling only provoked him to pull her tighter and rub his knuckles against her close-cut head of hair. It hurt._

"_Ugh, get off me you big rancor!" She was trying to be intimidating, but couldn't help as a hint of laughter slipped into her words._

_She noticed students around them stifling gasps, looking upon the two with eyebrows raised in disbelief. She hear a few stray comments consisting mostly of 'He's gonna get himself killed!' and 'The great idiot!' or 'Why. . . isn't he dead yet?'_

"_Fine, fine." Malak let out a deep chuckle that reverberated through the large courtyard they were in._

_Once free she straightened her black robes and gently rubbed her throbbing scalp once over. By now there was a crowd around them, but she didn't gawk back at them. She didn't even glance towards anyone but the brute before her. Nobody else was even worth acknowledging._

"_If I didn't know any better, I'd say you want my 'sabers through your guts." She smirked at him and a strange excitement crept its way up her spine. She pulled two hilts from beneath her robes and activated them in a flourish. She knew she looked damn impressive when the crowd that had gathered moved back away from her and Malak._

"_So maybe I do." His deep voice rumbled. He pulled his own double-bladed lightsaber and activated dual beams of thick, brilliant blue. _

_Her own blades weren't normal in coloration, she offhandedly noticed. But then the unbidden thought came - of course not! She filched the gleaming silver crystals from an ancient, unnoticed display case long before she had been permitted to construct her twin blades. They gleamed a brilliant defiant white. The very edges of the beams were blue in tinge._

_She was also a guardian, albeit a very different style of such than say, Malak._

_Smirk never fading, she sprinted at him with such speed it startled her out of 'Revan's body.' She knew at that point it wasn't her dream, and the protagonist definitely was not herself as she couldn't even imagine moving so quickly. His speed was . . . it was impossible. She watched as the two sparred – neither holding back. Revan always held the upper hand, acrobatically dodging everything the brute threw his way – and he threw a lot._

_The lithe guardian then made a move of his own. He marked out the motions so precisely – bringing the edges of his silver blades only close enough to his friend to scorch his skin, calling out each 'hit' as either disabling or fatal._

_The bout ended immediately, and the crowd reluctantly complimented the smaller man for his impressive display. Malak smiled broadly, and Revan returned a barely discernible smile of his own, silver eyes bright. _

_This Revan was undoubtedly Echani – his silvery hair was a bit shaggy and unkempt (probably, she thought, due to Malak's friendly 'styling'). His skin was still very silvery and pale. She came closer to him in the dream-world, unseen, and inspected him further. He wasn't much younger than he was now. Maybe three to five years. He looked so different though. Especially. . ._

_Especially his eyes._

_They were still so startling, still made her breath catch in her chest. Even his last yeas of youth, before the taint, those eyes were sharp and demanded respect. They were nearly white with silvery blue flecks – just the same as any other echani, but with the looks he gave those young padawans who had intruded upon him and his companion for too long. . . he was still frightening._

_The dream suddenly went black._

The rogue awoke feeling more groggy and stiffer than he could remember having ever been.

Before he could shake off his post-sleep disorientation the only thought that he had was something along the lines of 'what the fuck hit me?'. He rolled his head from side to side, disrupting his own comfort in an effort to fully wake himself. Upon lifting his throbbing cranium, though, he found he was being hindered by a weight across his torso. As soon as his vision cleared and he saw Bastila lying atop him everything came back with a mind-numbing clarity.

He had his ass handed to him.

Feeling more than a little disgusted with himself, he needed to be up and out and training. He was nearly killed by an opponent that should have been an easy target, if not for his underhanded moves. _But all is fair when the situation means life or death._ So, ignoring the strain on his newly mended muscles, he carefully shifted from beneath the slumbering Jedi, amazed that he didn't wake her.

For a half second he began reaching for his armor, but then remembered how little of it was actually left. He quietly sighed. Adding the purchase of new armor to his mental list of things to do, he pulled on the charred remnants of his former suit: light boots, leggings, and his gauntlets. It must have looked ridiculous, but there wasn't much he could do about that until he got himself to an arms shop.

Before heading out he stepped into the apartment's bathroom and ran his head under cool water, washed the dried blood from his face and hair (promising himself a full shower later) and completed other small improvements to his hygiene.

He walked across the dingy apartment to the door, and with one backwards glance at the still-sleeping Jedi to whom he owed his life, he opened the room's access and stepped outside.

He wasn't prepared for what hit him next, though. Or, rather, what he tripped over. With an acknowledgeable amount of surprise, he found that the rest of his little gang had set up camp outside the apartment's door. He had tripped over Carth.

Before he could say anything, Mission was up and smiling – he noted that she wasn't right up in his face as per norm, though. It wasn't like her to give him personal space. The observation was pushed aside when he noticed the girl's blue face was smudged with a little filth, indicating she had been out doing something she wasn't supposed to. The wookiee Zaalbar was still curled soundly against a wall, showing no signs of returning to his waking life anytime soon, indicating that he had also been out all night.

"Are you feeling better then?" Carth spoke, now standing, dusting himself off. He had a strange nervousness to his voice, too.

"I can assure you that I'm feeling better than you look." The rogue replied, sniping away at the grizzled-looking soldier in a friendly sort of way, only to be baffled by the man's lack of a response.

"Yeah, well Grandpa over here didn't exactly think things through before agreeing to give you two the apartment in peace." Mission accused.

"Well, it's not like we got back too long ago, anyway."

"Got back from doing what?" The rogue asked, one eyebrow slightly cocked in question. He looked between the two for a moment before Mission spoke.

"There was a Mandalorian in the audience beside me in the arena. When everything went down, he helped me and Bastila out – carried you and everything." She paused, recoiling slightly at the runner's grimace. "Well, anyway, it turned out he was the guy I heard about earlier. He's agreed to help us steal his boss's ship, the Ebon Hawk."

"Right." Carth continued for her. "But the thing wouldn't do us any good without the launch codes needed to get us off this rock. We were out acquiring a droid from Davik so we can break into the Sith base and get them."

"And the droid is . . .where?"

Almost comically Mission and Carth looked first around them, then to each other wide-eyed, and then back to him. "He was right here!"

"Well, best find him again. I think Zaalbar will be fine – I doubt even a taresian is stupid enough to bother a sleeping wookiee."

"Hey!" Mission said, offended by the comment against Taresian intelligence.

"Don't get too upset over it." Carth consoled her, this time visibly restraining her from upsetting him, before falling in behind the rogue. Without a comment from Raven, the search party assembled, and the three began hunting for the droid.

Luckily, it wasn't a very hard search. In fact, it was quite possibly the shortest search in the history of the Republic. They had barely rounded the first bend in the complex's hallway before finding the little utility droid contentedly repairing something beside a humming janitor.

"T3!" Mission called, sounding both surprised and pleased.

The little droid turned upon hearing her voice, and bwooped its happy response. The janitor looked up for a second, then went back to work not giving them so much as a hello.

"Well. That was easy." Carth stated the obvious.

"Indeed." The rogue graced him with a response. "Well, now that that is over, shall we go break some Sith skulls?"

"Well, Canderous more or less told us that the only way we could get the codes and the ship is to go after both simultaneously. He can get you or Bastila into Davik's headquarters, and the rest of us will break in to the Sith compound."

He nodded slowly, thinking for a moment. "Very well. I will let Bastila decide which she would rather do. Let's get this droid back to the apartment."

Bastila had fully awoken shortly after the rogue, and sat atop the bed trying to make sense of what she had just experienced.

Undoubtedly Revan's thoughts were leaking to her through their . . . connection. This wasn't a normal dream, though. She had witnessed a segment of Revan's former memories, and given the strange nature of their connection, felt the world as he had. It was startling, how much he enjoyed the fact everyone kept their distance from him. No, that wasn't right. He didn't enjoy it. He just. . . didn't care.

He really was more tranquil within than she herself was, in an unhealthily detached sort of way.

At least he was until he met with Malak. She had felt the tug of emotion. From Malak's reactions to his presence, she could only assume the feeling was mutual. The two were very close friends and the thought greatly disturbed her. She had felt how much Revan cared for the brute, even though from the outside it appeared she - . . . no,_ he - _had barely tolerated the cannok. She somehow knew there was no way Revan would have ever been able to kill the man.

_Then just how did._ . . The answer was heartbreakingly simple, and came to her before she even finished thinking the question. Malak wasn't as loyal to their friendship as Revan was, and that was what got Revan 'killed.' All accounts pointed to Revan being the leader and Malak having followed him. . . but then. . . what would have happened. . .

Her thoughts were cut short by the return of Revan and Carth.

* * *

"Wake up. We've got to get moving and you'll decide the next step, oh damsel saved-from-distress."

He could only stare stupidly as his old snipe failed to produce a response. Yesterday she was at his throat if he dared to even hint that he had saved her life, not the other way around. Yet now. . . now she held her frustration back. He could see the flash of anger cross her eyes. The slight rush of blood to her usually pale face. She was still just as spoiled as ever, thinking he was wrong, but why then didn't she show it as she usually did? And why wasn't she jumping at the opportunity to take the reins of this mission?!

Was what happened yesterday really enough to make everyone in this rundown apartment walk on eggshells around him?

He pressed his memory to it's limits, thinking of every detail he could grasp before he had blacked out, and he failed to produce a memory that wasn't dream-like or unreal. He had remembered such an odd sensation, though, so vividly it couldn't have been a dream. Had he . . . done it again? _So much for plan A. Time to be blunt, I suppose. _

"So. I see we all appear to have some sort of newfound phobia?" He began rhetorically. "As much as I love having all of you bending over backwards to please me, I have to admit the fact you're afraid of me is getting on my nerves."

He paused, hoping someone would just take the hint and fill him in. He had no such luck, however.

"_Well?_" He pressed, irritation breaking through his calm visage via his voice.

"We need to get the ship, this Ebon Hawk, and get to Dantooine immediately." Bastila finally spoke up, and he remained silent to let her continue speaking, even though she was obviously darting around his question. "It would appear you are a bit, eh, Force sensitive. Left untrained or without guidance, this sporadic grasp of power may consume you."

She was unable to look him in the eyes. So, is that was what this was about? He was able to use this Force? This invisible power that all Jedi depended upon far too much for their own survival. . . he could use it? He couldn't see how that mattered at all.

"I see." He said after some time. "Very well then. I have no idea why going to some backwater farm planet is going to help you alleviate me of this little 'issue' of mine, but . . . I'll go."

He honestly wasn't sure whether or not he would go. He didn't trust Jedi. Too reclusive, too cryptic. Too strong to kill if he was being lured into a trap. He felt a strange shiver down his spine, and knew that something was being left unsaid. There was an air of uncertainty around everyone, but none of his little crew was being more secretive than Bastila.

He would confront her about it later, but right now he had a feeling every little bond created between this motley bunch would tear if he pressed the issue now. He honestly couldn't say why he cared whether or not they disbanded. . . but he had a gut feeling about this situation, and the thought of leaving the group just now was surprisingly distasteful. After he got off this planet. That would be appropriate enough.

He sighed softly. Really, it was quite out of character. "Fine then. Let's split up and get this over with. This planet makes my skin crawl – no offense, Mission – and I'd rather get out of here as soon as possible."

"Very well. What were you saying about splitting up earlier, Raven?" Bastila calmly asked. His mind paused on the fact his name sounded awkward coming from her tongue for a second. He shook the thought off as quickly as it came.

"One of us needs to get the ship, the other will lead everyone else to assault the sith base effectively slaughtering every last sentient _thing _that stands between them and those passcodes, up to and including taresian police who may try to stop us. Our mission is more important than they'd ever imagine, I'm sure, and we can't be hampered."

Oh yes. He would love to lead the assault on the base.

"I think it would be best if I led the passcode mission in a more . . . . discrete manner." She brought her hand to her temple, rubbing little circles into her brow. "We don't need the whole planet to know we're defying those currently in power."

"What?. . ." He couldn't help but blink stupidly. "I'm the very king of discrete."

She raised a thin eyebrow, somehow unimpressed. With an exaggerated open-palmed shrug he one upped her and cocked both of his own delicate black arches.How could this little council princess deny him this simple fact? Surely she couldn't do a better job than he when it came to assassination. Force or not he couldn't imagine her slitting a throat in cold blood. _She'll probably try to bring them all back to the Light . . . or in the very least nag them about morality until they vaporize _themselves_._

Regardless, he already knew he lost this argument. But still. . .

"It's just that eventually someone may begin to notice all the bodies piling up and possibly summon authorities. I'm just thinking ahead. You know. . . necessary precautions. Wouldn't want you to have to come return my favor by freeing me from a prison, would we?"

She laughed at him then. At first he was blindsided by the sound. He hadn't said anything funny. Quite the opposite he had hoped to irk her just for the entertainment value. He felt a spike of fire rise inside him, but immediately squelched it. "Fine. I'll just go work with that Mandalorian and try to be discrete with that barbarian following me around. . . "

She seemed to approve of his obviously sarcastic statement. _Ok, so plan b fails again_. He resigned to dealing with the Exchange boss.

"Very well. That Rancor will keep the attention off me at any rate." He remembered as a light breeze played across his chest through mere cloth that he wasn't armed for an invasion on the Sith base level anyway. "Besides, It wouldn't really do to have me slaying a legion half naked. Probably not the brightest idea. . . but regardless you just let me know how that goes."

How was it she had survived so long in that skimpy little outfit anyway? He pushed the thought aside as quickly as he forced himself to avert his eyes. He had a feeling getting caught staring after that little snipe would be problematic to explain away. . . but he found his eyes kept wandering back in spite of the fact.

_Damn women anyway. Wear something like _that_ and expect a man to not stare? _He repressed the urge to slam the palm of his hand into his forehead, among other urges.

"Good. We should move out now – I want to get back into action as soon as possible. The republic needs every man it can get, and we're not doing much good sitting in this apartment." Carth suggested, readying his gear and weapons.

With that, the rogue followed suit by pulling his own worn blade from its place at his side. He eyed it distastefully. It was getting to the point of being less than worthless – and apparently Mission was of a like opinion, as she lightly stepped forward, carrying a blade of her own.

"You're not going to get much done with that thing." She held up the longer vibroblade she was carrying, and extended it to him in a way that suggested it wasn't just some loot she found in the sewers. "I upgraded it myself. . . I'm no master craftsman, but it served me well the few times I used it. Here."

Although he felt a bit awkward having been put in the position of receiving something, he grasped the sword's hilt and gave it a test flourish. It was perhaps a bit heavier than he would have liked, but the length was good. Not too long as to be a poor assassination tool, but longer than his old shortsword so it would be much more useful in actual combat.

And it could be wielded against a lightsaber.

He gave her a nod of thanks – really, it was about as much thanks as he ever gave a person. . . save Bastila. He felt a swift wave of shame and anger at the thought of how weak he had been the previous night. It wasn't that he was ungrateful for her help – he'd be pure coreslime if he hadn't indebted himself – but he _had_ indebted himself. And perhaps admit a bit more than even he was feeling towards the little Jedi princess.

He inwardly shuddered. In a way, he prided himself on being smooth. . . unshakable. Last night was definitely neither of the two. There really wasn't much he could do about the past though, so he just bit back the spike of shame and went on.

Besides. It wasn't like it was_ that_ bad of a memory.

He walked down into the lower city ignoring all glances from any alien trash that happened to pass him by. The place was so full of backstabbing and rife with violence he would have been scared witless, if not for the fact he felt right at home. It was an odd sensation, but in knowing most of them were afraid of him (and they must have known his face – why else would they give him such a wide birth when walking around him?) he felt safe. Sure there would be mercs after him now, undoubtedly. His new title assured him of as much.

Jedi. That worthless, disgusting word. It made his skin crawl. . . too much order, too much arrogance. But still, there was no doubt in his mind that they were strong. Very strong, if not a dieing breed. Training under the masters couldn't be a bad thing if he played his cards right.

In the figurative sense, he had this game under wraps, a /- 1 up his sleeve, and a poker face rivaled by no other. Or so he hoped. Because if he won this game he'd always have a trump card hidden away in the form of sheer power of will. This Force. . .

Shame he always hated Pazaak.

His thoughts continued to ramble around those themes until he reached that slimy little Cantina that housed so much rubbish. He casually strolled through the doors, ignoring the guard as he shied away without so much as nodding at him. Inside the air was the same as any cantina. Thick, humid. It smelled of wet Bantha down here, though. One minor difference from a normal cantina – they just smelled like Bantha period.

He saw the man, then, as he neared the bar. Taller than himself by a head, silvered with age, but by no means old. He was as meaty as any Mandalorian would want to be, and his face was worn with lines from a near perpetual grimace. Most importantly, he noticed the heavy repeating blaster holstered comfortably at the man's side. He thought it strange that someone with such obvious strength would wield a blaster, not a blade of some sort, but then he reasoned you _needed_ to be strong just to hold that monster of a gun up.

This mandalorian of clan Ordo was also focused rather intently on a conversation he was holding with a short little excuse for a human – looked like a mercenary, but he was so short the thought of him being dangerous made him laugh. He was oddly curious about this conversation, though, so sticking to the shadows he crept his way towards them, unnoticed, so skilled in remaining unseen he didn't even need to activate his stealth generator. Besides, if he did that it would undoubtedly raise suspicion.

"I know that you have associated with the Jedi." The short little man plainly stated in a cocky tone. "I want to know his whereabouts, and I want them now. Give me what I want, or we don't even have to take this outside."

The little man's threats fell upon uncaring ears – Mandalorians were threatened by none, in their cocksure arrogance. He watched in the shadows as the man from clan Ordo grinned, and pat his enormous gun, replying "We both know that wouldn't last very long. Besides. . ." He shook his head, "The Jedi _wants_ to work for Davik. Turns out he's more of a rogue Force wielder than he is a Jedi. He's supposed to be meeting me here sometime within this lifetime."

"And so I am." He stepped from the shadows, noting that neither man seemed overly shocked. The little man looked unimpressed, and the glance he gave him in return was quite mutual in nature. The Mandalorian simply stood and began to leave without any silent berating.

"Let's go meet your new boss then." The little merc grinned in a foxy sort of way – "just remember to behave."

_Thinks he's clever, does he?_

"I'd never dream of doing otherwise." He smiled back.

The mandalorian met his eyes briefly, a quick warning for him to keep in line and not let the plan fall through. Or so he assumed. Fair enough. He let the smile fade from his lips and fell into step beside the silvered man.

As he walked towards his killing fields, he noticed a strange sensation. He could feel the mandalorian beside him. Not just body heat or noises he made or whatever, but actually feel his presence of mind. Curious, he caught that little lead like a kath hound tracking its prey's scent, and followed it as far as he could, only to find that he could not only sense the man, but with some concentration, get the just of his current emotions.

He was calm as the surface of a pond on a backwater country planet on a sunny midsummer day.

Arrogant thing. That, or he actually trusted him enough to let his guard down? No. . . the way he kept his big, filthy hand over his blaster was enough to prove otherwise. He inwardly groaned. Stupid mandalorians. . .he really was so confident in his own abilities that he wasn't concerned about the impending bloodbath in the least.

Then he thought again, he wasn't overly stressed in any way either. Undoubtedly his confidence came from the fact he was indeed superior to any living thing on this disgusting planet. _Not because I am too cocksure in any way whatsoever_.

His grim sarcasm was emphasized by the way he felt that long scar across his back burn. He knew he was just imagining it, having only experienced the pain of its creation a mere 24 hours ago, but the cold chill it gave him put him more on guard nonetheless. He was, though it made him laugh to think about, still mortal. Force in his being or not.

The day had been long and rather grueling. He had been inside Davik's headquarters just long enough to learn that he'd probably enjoy killing the geezer. Now he was being escorted to his 'personal quarters' by the Mandalorian. They were only his temporarily, as Davik had said, and although it wouldn't have mattered either way (as he surely wasn't staying).

"Please, enjoy your stay as my guest. But do be warned, if you venture from the guest wing or disturb any of my other guests my guards won't hesitate to. . . deal with you." The silvered old bastard grinned with the air of a man with some measure of a superiority complex.

"Noted." Was his passive reply.

The purple-clad man and his servants left them to their bidding.

It was his mistake, really, to hire such pathetic guards. If they had been as competent as they were numerous he may have been stalled, but there were no such obstacles to slow him and the Mandalorian.

They had the place pants down across their laps before the first Mandalorian versus Echani debate even started. Oddly, it hadn't gone the way the rogue thought it would. Canderous was a tough guy through and through, especially when he fought, but he was also surprisingly well-versed in the ways of tactics. He worked well with what he had and never once attracted undue attention.

Until now anyway.

They were standing before the ship facing down the foxy little mercenary and Davik, all looking for a fight just as hell broke loose around them. The Sith had just begun to bombard the planet and the leader had obviously decided it was time to make his grand escape – meaning of course the ship wasn't locked down; quite to the contrary it was ready for take off.

Canderous had made for the ship at a dead sprint, the first sign of his race's inherited brashness. He had opted for the slightly less obvious path and threw up his stealth field before awkwardly half-loping-half-crouching after the brute. In the end he was glad he did; it gave them a huge jump on their more than capable opposition.

"Canderous! What are you doing here?! And where is that would-be Jedi you dragged in with you?!" Davik said in an uncharacteristically excited tone.

"The Jedi?" To his credit Canderous only hesitated a second to look behind him before lying. "He died a ways back. Beam fell right across his midsection. . . . not pretty. So much for the force, eh?"

"Ugh, nasty business that." Davik replied, regaining some measure of his previous front. A second volley made the whole structure moan, and the facade was lost again. "Forget this then. . . let's get off this rock before we're burnt to ash!"

"Sounds good to me!" Canderous roughly agreed.

"Mmm, me too." _Smirk_. Nobody could see it, but the assassination wouldn't have been complete without the little grin. The rogue slashed Mission's blade clean through the purple armor's weakened knee joints, dropping the silvered man to his level before completing the kill with a cleanly carved smile just south of his natural mouth.

Davik's foxish little lackey began to respond, but a conveniently timed volley dropped a portion of the hangar's roof on top of him. With the rest of the structure threatening to follow suit, both surviving men made a run for the ship.

Canderous piloted (mostly due to the fact he beat the runner to the pilot's seat) while the rogue called out falling debris and other such hazards at an alarmingly fast pace. There was no doubt in either man's mind that this was, in fact, the fastest ship of its type in the whole Galaxy. The Ebon Hawk danced and dodged around everything thrown in her path so nimbly it had the rogue seeing double before they reached their destination. The pair managed to get to the entrance to their dingy hideout without suffering so much as a single scratch.

"I had you sorted out all wrong Canderous!" The rogue exclaimed with a very genuine, adrenaline-induced smile as the hatch was popped open for the others. "I guess all mandalorians aren't quite as stupid as they say!"

"Damn right! I suppose all Echani aren't as cowardly as I would have believed either, runt!" A thick hand clapped him across the shoulder.

The two then burst into what could be interpreted as the semi-maniacal laughter of those who appreciated a good blood-bath while thy waited for their crew to board up. Not a moment too soon, they had the lithe little bird off and running again, this time straight through the slain planet's thinning atmosphere.

"Uh oh. Not clear yet. . ." Canderous gestured towards the radar panel with a swift nod of his head. "Hope you're not a bad shot. Go mop up for us will ya?"

"What's the matter? Can't outrun them in the swiftest ship this galaxy has ever seen?" He joked, before heading to take care of the small sith flyers that had been dumb enough to follow them.

Once they were in the clear again and everyone was accounted for Bastila and Carth took control and set them into slipspace straight for Dantooine. For a moment they were able to savor their triumph and rest easy.

They were no longer in enemy controlled territory; however small a victory it was, they had won.

* * *

There was just one little thing the Rogue didn't think of: You can't effectively leave a group of people when sharing a small ship in slipspace with them. The girl had taken up residence in the central room, full of smaller sub-rooms such as what appeared to be a storage closet and a med-bay. Naturally, the giant wookiee was with her most of the time, but had taken to spending his time in the wing with the swoop. Oddly, the somewhat-brick-brained Mandalorian spent most of his time there as well. Bastila and Carth were practically married to the pilot seats.

He wasn't really attached to a singular portion of the ship – he generally just drifted to where everyone else wasn't.

Slipspace transitions were generally quick, and this one was no different, considering the distance they were traveling, but the time was going by far too slowly for him. Bastila had tried hunting him down once or twice, but even as aware of her surroundings as she was, when he didn't want to be found, he simply couldn't be found.

It wasn't until the woman started raising alarm among the crew members that he wasn't on board anymore that he began to rethink avoiding everyone.

"What do you mean he isn't anywhere on board?" Carth said, not sounding as shocked as he was simply admonishing the young Jedi for her claim. "Where could he possibly go? We're in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing."

"He's probably just trying to avoid all your questioning." The mandalorian said in his gruff, accusing tones. "The little Echani isn't likely to be new to hiding in dark corners."

Sighing softly, defeated, Bastila called out "Raven, is that true?"

He felt his left eye twitch. As annoyed as he was, he replied from beneath his stealth shield in the corner of the room where they had all gathered. "More or less."

"Well, you can come out now." She continued in an exasperated manner. This was obviously embarrassing for her. He let out a soft chuckle, which apparently did nothing but elate her discomfort. "Oh, honestly! Stop being so childish!"

He chuckled again, albeit he was less humored and more annoyed. Nonetheless, he stood and let his stealth barrier fall. "Happy, princess?"

He then turned and left the room, apparently unconcerned about their meeting on his behalf.

"Wow. . .what's gotten in to him?" Mission spoke first, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over the group.

"He knows something isn't right. . ." Bastila murmured softly, entirely to herself. Mission heard her say something, but the quizzical look she gave in response could have only meant she didn't understand or she hadn't truly heard. Either way, the Jedi woman had caught her error and didn't elaborate.

"Hrm. Think someone should go talk to him?" Mission spoke again, unfazed by Bastila's sudden silence. "I mean, if he could keep hidden from us on this ship. . . well. If he's in the same mood on Dantooine, there'll be no chance of finding him."

"Talking to him is what started his pathetic sulking. Just let the Echani be." Canderous gruffly commanded. "Idiot will come to his senses eventually."

Bastila, however, wasn't convinced.

After the group had dispersed and went back to their various methods of keeping themselves occupied, she headed in the direction the former dark lord had taken. It wasn't very long before she found him laying atop a bunk in the barrack-like wing of the small ship where the girl Mission could be found half the time. She was, however, nowhere in sight at the moment.

Her arrival didn't provoke a single response from him – he hadn't even acknowledged her presence. He just lay, staring distantly at the bunk above his, refusing to meet her eye, as if hoping she'd just take his hint and leave him in peace. A few more moments passed, and all that changed was the depth of the creases around his lips as his impassive staring slowly became a scowl.

"What do you want." He finally ground out, any hope of her just leaving extinguished.

"Nothing much." She lied. "I was just wondering what. . .no. What I mean is. . are you feeling all right?"

"Absolutely fine." The stir of heavy emotions in the back of her mind told her otherwise. The presence – _his_ presence – was angry and confused. She couldn't help suddenly feeling annoyed by how he took such an about turn from the night before. Worse, she knew exactly what eluded him; that one piece of information irretrievable at the back of his mind that was the base of his unease. It was frustrating but she had to find a way to placate him without blowing the big secret.

"Oh come _on_!" It was he who broke the silence with an exasperated rasp. "I can_ tell_ you're annoyed just fine by the way you're glaring at me. Like I need your input within my head too?!"

She was struck silent for a moment. It hadn't crossed her mind that the connection could go both ways. His thoughts and memories in her dreams. . . did he see hers as well?

"You can feel it as well then." Her statement earned her nothing more than a few more creases around his inner brows. She sighed, honestly feeling disappointed by his lack of empathy. "I don't like this any more than you do, you know."

"Oh, I know." He grimaced. "There's something that's bothering me. You know, more than having you in the back of my head all the time. . . believe it or not."

"Understandable, given your current circumstances."

"My current circumstances?" He had something important to say, but curiosity piqued, he decided it could wait a few minutes.

"Well, yes." She brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and sat at the edge of the bunk. He moved to accommodate her, pulling his legs over the mattress and sat down beside her, leaning heavily on his elbows; he wasn't entirely willing to relinquish his relatively comfortable position. Now roughly settled, she continued, "Regardless of how much I try to remain in control of _my_ mission, it's _you_ this crew looks to for answers. It's you they subconsciously count as their leader. -"

"Are you jealous?" He smirked. She didn't bother to hide her irritation, visible or otherwise.

"It's not so much I feel jealous as I do . . . undermined." She grudgingly admitted. "But regardless, you can act a great crowing malraas all you want, but I know you don't like having them lean on you so heavily. I can feel you cringe every time one of them places even more trust in you."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"I would." She caught his primal eyes and for once wasn't taken aback. It was she who cornered him this time. "I'm no great judge of character, but it seems you're feeling guilty because you plan to betray them."

"Hardly!" He growled at her, voice barely raised but just as malevolent as if he had yelled. "I'm no backstabbing traitor. I have my own agenda, yes, there's no point in hiding that from you as I'm sure you've surmised as much from your infernal spying-"

"I do_ not _spy on you!" _and not a betrayer? Then why are we in the middle of a civil war, Darth Revan?_!

"Whatever! Spying, presence, mind. . . jedi. . . tricks. Whatever it is you people do." He bit his lower lip hard enough to bring the sharp pain to the forefront of his mind – and the back of hers – cutting his temper short. "Look. I don't want this any more than I want them willing to jump off cliffs for me."

"The Force you mean?" She had checked herself as well, her voice much softer.

By now he had pulled himself into a more alert position, any semblance of lounging or comfort a thing of the near past. A little bead of blood was swelling on his lip. He stood, and paced the room once, then settled on leaning against the wall opposite her.

"You knew I was Force sensitive long before I charred that mandalorian." _And so it comes out._

"I had my suspicions, yes." She carefully continued, very sure to rein in her emotions and remain as tranquil as possible. It was hard enough to keep her secrets from this man even before he could feel her emotional spikes. "I'm. . . sorry if that is what has been causing you such discomfort. I wasn't intentionally lying about your latent sensitivities to cause you pain, but there was no point in raising your hopes if nothing ever did happen."

He seemed to accept her lie gracefully enough. It surely fit the symptoms of her actions if anything. He slid down the wall and let the ship's artificial gravity pull his limbs against the floor as it pleased, then pulled his arms up behind his head as he reclined once again. He didn't speak for some time, eyes slightly unfocused and obviously in deep thought.

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but the Republic," she paused breifly, shaking her head slowly, "the Republic isn't faring well in this war. The Sith have seemingly endless resources and every so often another Jedi falls, only swelling their forces while simultaneously draining ours. _Every_ Jedi matters. Every soldier matters."

His eyes were closed, but he was attentive, calmly listening to her words and possibly mulling over their deeper meaning.

"You have the potential to become a great Jedi." _or a reborn nightmare from our past. . . _but she cut that thought short. "And as much as you hate it, you do have some level of charisma that others find hard to resist."

He smirked. Not a good sign. . .

"So that's why you called me out? To tell me I'm hard to resist? Kind of a clumsy come on, wouldn't you agree?" He let out a deep purr-like chuckle.

"W-what? Ugn, You're insufferable!" _Little Malraas!_

"But hard to resist."

His smirk only parted into a cocky little smile and a richer chuckle ground it's way through closed teeth from somewhere deep in his chest. She waited for him to apologize and let her continue, but as he sat with that sly grin across his face she realized that the words she wanted to hear would simply never come. It almost seemed absurd that she had ever expected them to.

"Fine." She stifled a laugh at his stubbornness despite the fact he was irking her. "You're hard to resist."

"And finally she admits her utter adoration and respect for the galaxy's most handsome outlaw."

"I said hard to resist. Not impossible." She replied dryly, but regardless a smile began to creep onto her lips as he feigned disbelief. "What I'm saying, though, is that you underestimate yourself. I've felt your reluctance whenever Dantooine is mentioned. I don't know if it's a fear of authority or a fear of responsibility-"

"It's not a fear of anything." He shrugged. "I just don't want to be swept into anything I don't feel like seeing through 'til the end."

"So you fear commitment." She dared her own little jest.

"A man like me doesn't need to know the meaning of the word 'Commit'." He pushed himself from the wall and paced the length of the room once more, ambling in thought.

She half expected another punchline regarding his 'unsurpassed levels of masculinity', but one never did come. So she continued, "regardless, I believe you'll make a better jedi than you believe."

"And if I don't follow your traditions?" He stopped his pacing and dropped down onto the bunk once again, a more serious look in his eyes. "If I prefer the. . . what is you jedi call it. The _dark _side? If I don't believe in spreading 'great justice' through self sacrifice? What if I join the Sith after you train me? Then what?"

This was probably the most vital point in any conversation she had ever held with the reformed Revan. It was odd, in hindsight, that she wasn't more terrified as she answered, "Then I'll have to hunt and kill you myself." _Again._

"Huh. Could be worse fates than being chased around the galaxy by a pretty little Jedi." She openly gasped as the words were spoken. He gave her an odd look then, "Relax. It was a joke. You don't have to trust me, but ruling a galaxy isn't exactly my style. Even stretching my mind to its very limits I can only think of one thing that would make me even consider joining that pathetic armada." He smiled down at her and winked almost playfully. "And I sincerely doubt you have to worry about it any more."

Just then she wished he knew what she couldn't tell him. That he had in fact been part of the Sith. That he had betrayed the entire republic, say nothing about the fact he was previously a hero. Nobody knew what had changed him so drastically. But he still did, even now, and she was so curious it almost hurt to keep the truth from him.

"What could possibly make you want to slaughter entire planets for no given reasons? The Sith. . . there is no reason. They're just twisted, malevolent and broken individuals who couldn't resist. . . The lure of the dark side is hard to resist, Raven. It's not just about morality. There's something much deeper. . ."

"I know." He gave a small smirk. It wasn't his normal self-satisfied one, either. It was more of an apology. "I didn't used to look like this. Heh, don't look so shocked; I'm sure you already know, if simply because Echani don't have black hair. I can't really explain it, but . . . there were never any whispers promising power. There was never any lure at all.

There were some times, long before I met you, back when I was a smuggler. Maybe when I was a kid, I don't know. It's kinda fuzzy. But regardless, there were a handful of times I should have been killed, times that I should have died or gotten seriously maimed, but I didn't and wasn't. Every time . . . the only times I was ever afraid," his eyes grew distant and focused on a point somewhere beyond her, " I was never afraid, unless I was certain I was doomed. Even then I don't think I was truly afraid. . . I wasn't pissing myself at any rate. Somewhere in the back of my mind I just felt it was impossible for me to be killed. I still tend to believe that thought, even after that little stunt yesterday. Hell, perhaps because of it."

His face contracted into a bit of a grimace as he paused, apparently trying to simply word something that was rather complicated to him. She wasn't surprised, knowing what she did of how his memories were modified. She was a little nervous that he may be thinking too hard on the illusions – that he may pull something vital from them that the council hadn't thought to cover. But the pause did end, and he continued his narrative.

"I could always feel the Force. I guess I just didn't know what it was. But every time I was truly desperate. . . and mind you, that wasn't often, but it did happen. . . I just pulled miracles out of nowhere." He shrugged, "I remember this one time I was scouting ahead for a big spice theft from my gang's biggest competitor. . . I made a stupid mistake and was seen by a guard before I saw him. Ripped the life from the man, who had stabbed me from behind, taking what he tried to steal back without so much as touching him, before I even felt the pain from my wound. It was just a bunch of weird stuff like that. I'm not sure when it started changing me, but eventually I just . . . well, you can see it as easily as me."

There was a short, somewhat awkward silence until he broke it once more; "Um. . . the end."

"It's the taint of the Dark Side." She began. Of all the directions confronting him about his one-sided game of hide-and-go-seek could have taken this was by far the least expected.

"Taint is such an ugly word. I'd rather not use it when talking about my magnificence." He smirked again, but it died away before he continued. "I just did what I did to survive. I called upon it, and it did my bidding exactly as I had wanted, before I even knew what it was I thought I needed to do. I used it to save my life. What was my other alternative? To die?"

"There are many solutions to given problems. Using your own example, you could have let the Force heal you without killing the man, if you had known how to properly call upon it."

"Seems inefficient to me. The man was going to die regardless – he tried to _kill _me. Would it really have mattered if I used my magic powers or ran him through with my sword?"

"Yes, actually." She recalled her most basic lessons at the academy. "It may seem minor, but the difference between using the Force for your own bidding or letting it aid you makes _all_ the difference. Granted, your dark intentions didn't help you at all, but this transformation was undoubtedly accelerated by vicious uses of the Force. If you had been trained as I had from a young age you'd still have your silver hair to say the least."

He didn't retort, just fell back into thought. She thought he was going to leave it at that, but as she stood to leave he slumped back against the bunk wall and made an indifferent grunt which caught her attention.

"I'll go to your academy, I think."

He ran his hand over his dark stubble absently as he spoke, a small motion that made her hopeful once more that her masters may have been right about bringing the man back to the Light. In the least, he was considering the aesthetic side effects of his poor moral judgment.

"Yes, I'll go," He continued, " but just. . . just don't expect anything from me. It goes against the grain of my very being to depend on anyone. . . anything. The Force. . . I'll at least hear your masters out, but . . . calling into nothing, begging for help is a very disturbing concept. Giving up this sure power. . . for hopes and pleas. . ."

"It's not a call into nothing, and it's not begging." She paused at the doorway, and regarded him for a moment. His face was once again set into a deep scowl. "You'll see if you try to understand. The Force is . . .very reliable, if not unpredictable. It's true that you can wrench it to your will, but then it's nothing more than a tool. A tool that destroys the one who tries to use it – the Force was never meant to be commanded in such a way."

She turned to leave him in peace, but stopped once again.

"And don't go running off once we dock." She resumed her prim tones, " I can assure you there's nowhere for you to go where I won't be able to find you."

"I doubt that." He snorted. "But don't worry. Last thing I want to do is waste away on a farm planet hiding in hayfields from the wrath of an angry woman backed by the entirety of the Republic's forces." He paused a moment, "but if I were to let you find me, say, in a farm house on a cute little plains dune and _then_ went into hiding with you for a day or two, all alone. . ."

"Well that isn't about to happen." She shook her head; o_f all the undignified. . ._ "Could you possibly be _less_ subtle, you blunt fool, even if you tried?"

"You, me, this bunk, thirty minutes?"

She simply sighed and left, though not as thoroughly frustrated as she appeared to be. He didn't say anything more, but she felt him laughing on the inside, just as she was.

_Insufferable fool._

* * *

AN: Yes. I know I changed their "I stand here in the Hawk" positions around ;P but, well, it doesn't seem very realistic that they'd stay in one spot the whole time, and that the two best friends would be on opposite ends of the ship, now does it?

And also – I'm really sorry for the huge delay. You might say I've smashed into a solid concrete wall of writers block moving faaar too quickly. O.

Hopefully this will be an enjoyable chapter for you all. If not, meh, I tried. Lol, sorry. ;


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